


Along The Heather

by noellehenry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1890s, Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Attempted Murder, Disease, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Fire, Gothic, M/M, Manor House, Minor Character Death, Mystery, North Yorkshire, Panic Attack, Physical Abuse, Tutor Harry Styles, Verbal Abuse, York Theatre Royal, Young Harry, hardship, jane eyre au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-07-01 22:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15783807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noellehenry/pseuds/noellehenry
Summary: Jane Eyre AU/Victorian AUOrphaned Harry Styles grows up with his cruel aunt and cousins, before he is sent away to a boys' boarding school, which teaches poor and orphaned boys. Even though his aunt tries to undermine Harry's experience at the school, he does well in school, and stays on at the school as a teacher after he graduates.When he becomes restless after significant changes at the school, he applies for a job as a tutor at Thorgill Hall, teaching the younger brother of Mr. Louis Tomlinson. Harry develops romantic feelings for his pupil's brother...Thorgill Hall,however, holds a secret; it’s becoming slightly more eerie every day and when his life is threatened, Harry makes a drastic decision…





	1. Hazelwood Manor

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a joy and pain to write; I almost gave up writing this AU. Although the tags are quite dark for a fic of mine, I assure you there are good times in the story too; life was just tough for an orphan boy in the Victorian era.
> 
> The story is a Jane Eyre AU. One of my favourite books from the Victorian era, written by Charlotte Brontë. Although the fic follows most of the original story, I took some liberties too. Religion doesn't play as much a role in the fic as it does in the original book. 
> 
> Important note: anyone who read the book, knows there is a minor character death in the story, I included that part in the fic too, just be aware it's one of the characters in the tags that dies and it's not an original character, just so you know.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading the story.
> 
> Here's the [tumblr post](https://noellehenryfics.tumblr.com/post/178787920071/along-the-heather-by-noellehenry-rating-mature)
> 
> And as always a great thanks to [Sam](https://britpickerhl.tumblr.com) for looking over my fic and picking out the errors.

 

Harry looked outside, from his favourite window seat, obscured from sight by the heavy velvet curtains. It had been raining most of the day, a cutting cold wind had prevented him from spending more time outside in the garden, the sombre leafless trees and shrubs were standing motionless against the grey and clouded sky.

He didn’t mind; he wasn’t a particular fan of long walks in the winter cold, his hands and toes would get numb from the chilly wind. The company of his cousins Elisabeth, Jules and Georgina equally cold; they were either avoiding him or pestering him, under the watch of Bella, their nurse. 

His cousins were gathered in the drawing room around the fire with their mother, Harry’s aunt. Chatting happily. As usual, Harry had been separated from them. His aunt insisting Harry’s behaviour and inferior social skills were a bad influence on her three beloved children. According to Bella, Harry’s behaviour left a lot to be desired for.

“Did Bella say what I did do wrong?’ Harry asked his aunt.

“Harry, never question your elders, do you hear? It’s inappropriate and bad behaviour. Please, take a seat somewhere else and remain silent.”

The drawing room adjoined the breakfast room and Harry quickly slipped in there. He walked over to the bookcase that stood in the corner of the room, containing many weighty books. He picked out a picture book and carefully carried it with him to his favourite spot in the house. The window-seat in the breakfast room, overlooking the garden. He crawled onto it, carefully so he wouldn’t drop the book and made himself comfortable, cross-legged, the book leaning on his legs, his back against the window sill, the curtains drawn almost closed. His little corner, where he could be himself.

The raindrops ticked against the glass surface, reminding him of the dreadful weather outside, as he absorbed the beautiful drawings in the book. Pictures of far away places, exotic animals and peculiar architecture. He wondered if such places really existed. They looked fascinating. 

Other pictures were more sinister with dark clouds, above a solitary churchyard, tombstones wrecked, a broken wall and the remains of a church in the background. 

A ship, about to get swallowed by the ocean, torn apart by a heavy storm.  
  
A man pinning down another man, his hands around his throat. Harry quickly turned the page,the drawing a bit too frightening for his young brain.  
  
He turned another page to find a drawing that looked like a terrifying black dog with a crazy look in his eyes. Harry shivered a little. As much as he liked some of the pictures, others were quite alarming to look at. He turned back to the first page, pyramids in Egypt and closed his eyes for a moment, picturing himself visiting those oddly shaped masonry structures.

He wished Bella would tell them stories like these, as much as he liked Bella’s stories, as rarely as she told them, depending on her mood, they were fairy tales, make believe. This… this looked so real, it had to exist.         
Unfortunately his time alone was interrupted by the screaming voice of his cousin Jules, apparently looking for him. 

‘He’s not in here.’ Jules yelled back. ‘Probably went outside all by himself.’ 

Harry kept quiet, hoping his little hiding place would not be discovered.  
Elisabeth peeked around the door. 

‘Try the window-seat, Jules.’ 

Before Jules could open the curtain, Harry jumped from his seat, because if he hadn’t, Jules would surely have grabbed him by his arm and pull him from his seat anyway.  
  
“What do you want from me?” Harry asked timidly.  
  
“Master Jules. You forgot the last part.’ His cousin smirked. ‘Come over here.’ He pointed to the spot in front of him.                                                                                                                                                                 
Jules was four years older than Harry. A large and stout young man with a weakness for food, which was only encouraged by his mother. Harry, compared to his cousin, was skinny and small, but he was only ten years old. 

Jules was a bully and Harry was the target continually. He feared him deeply. The servants knew, but never took Harry’s side, he was after all not their young master, but just a poor orphaned cousin. His aunt was oblivious; Jules made sure he never abused Harry in her presence. 

Harry stood in front of his cousin and before he could brace himself, Jules knocked him to the floor.

“You deserved this. Being impolite to mother and sneaking away behind curtains. Don’t give me that innocent look, Styles. You’re nothing!”

Harry didn’t reply, it only would lead to more abuse. He just took the blow without blanching and got up as quick as he could.  
  
‘What were you doing there anyway?” Jules barked.  
  
“Reading.”  
  
“Give me that book.”  
  
Harry reluctantly, walked back to the window-seat and picked up the picture book.

“Who gave you permission to take the book. You’re nothing, you’re scum. Your parents left you penniless. You should be thrown out on the streets, instead you live with us,  live at our expense. If it were up to me I’d throw you out, right now.” 

Jules pushed Harry aside, towards the door, took a step back and threw the picture book at him. Harry couldn’t cower in time, the book hit him on the head, he stumbled back and his head striked the door. The pain was immediate and sharp. He felt blood trickling down his cheek. Something shifted in him.  
  
“You’re cruel!” he spit at his cousin. “You could have killed me!”  
  
“What?! What did you call me?” Jules screamed at him. “You’re not going to get away with calling me a murderer! I’ll make sure you’ll get punished.”  He was about to strike Harry again, but he was saved by the appearance of his aunt and Bella.  
  
“What on earth is happening? What did you do to Master Jules?” Bella cried.  
  
Then his aunt said with a shaky voice.

“Take him away to the cellar and lock him in there.” Bella and two other servants who had come to their aid, dragged Harry with them downstairs to the damp and dark cellar. 

Harry hated the cellar, whenever his family felt the need to punish him, they sent him to the cellar. It was dark, damp and mice and rats occupied the space with him. He writhed all the way down the stairs, trying to escape from the firm grip of the hands that led him to the awful place in the house. The servants kept a strong hold of him. It was impossible for him to tear loose from their grip. It only confirmed Harry’s misbehaviour to them and his family.

“Don’t let him escape: he’s mad!”  
  
“How dare you behave like that. You should be glad you have a roof over your head. What were you thinking?!’ Bella cried.

“I didn’t do anything!!”  
  
“You should behave, for you have nothing. Where will you go, all penniless? Hmm? You sit down here and think over your evilness.”  
Harry was pushed down on the last steps leading towards the cellar.

“Sit still, or else… I’ll tie you down.” Bella hissed.

“I will sit still, I promise. Please don’t tie my down.” Harry cried and sat on his hands as a way of showing his tormentors, he wasn’t going to move.  
  
Bella watched him with tight lips, before she said. 

“Very well.” The servants loosened their grip on him. “What has gotten into you, boy? Are you mad? Do you want to end up at the poorhouse?” She didn’t await Harry’s reply, instead walked up the steps, followed by the other servants. 

“I told you, he was evil.” Harry heard one of the servants mumble to Bella. “He should not be in the house, growing up with the young master and his sisters. He’s a bad influence.” 

“He never put up so much fight as he did today.” Bella replied, looking over her shoulder to Harry.

Harry heard it all before. He doesn’t remember any other life. He’s been constantly reminded by his family and the servants that he’s lucky to have a roof over his head. And that he should be thankful to his family for taking him in. He’s not an equal to his cousins. His aunt kindly allows Harry to be brought up with his cousins. He should be humble and grateful. 

Bella more than once told him. 

“It’s for your own good, Harry. At least try to be pleasant, humble and useful if you want a home in this house. If you keep being difficult and stubborn, I’m sure your aunt will send you away.” 

“Pray, when you are by yourself, Harry. You don’t want God’s punishment. Repent. Who knows what will come crawling down here to take you away, if you don’t.”  
  
The door upstairs locked behind them. It was dark, pitch dark, without the flame from the candle held by Bella when they dragged him down here. He felt cold and a sense of dread, even though he’d been here quite frequently. Who knew what crawled on these floors besides the mice and rats. Harry shivered. He didn’t like the silence surrounding him.

It had been nine years since his uncle had died, shortly after Harry came to live with them. He hadn’t known him. He doesn’t remember him. His uncle had been his mother’s brother. In his last moments he had required a promise of his wife that she would rear and maintain Harry as one of her own children. His aunt probably considered she’d kept her promise. Harry wondered, would his life have been different if his uncle had still been alive? Would he not have been treated as a reprobate? Always accused? Always suffering? Whatever he did, he couldn’t seem to please anyone. Maybe he was condemned forever. His thoughts were getting darker, the longer he stayed in the cellar.  
  
The wound on his head was still bleeding and it ached. Why did his cousin get away with striking him, throwing books to his head and injuring him? Not so much as a reproach did Jules receive. Just because Harry had been defending himself to avoid more violence against himself, he was, once again, locked up in this bloody cellar. It was so unfair!

How long did he have to endure the oppression? For how many years to come? He couldn’t change who he was. He’d tried, but it did him no good. He’d always had this strong sense of what was right and he was an intelligent boy. He overheard Bella one day, telling another servant how bright a boy he was, unlike his cousins.

Harry wiped tears, mixed with blood, from his cheeks. He’d sobbed quietly. A soft light lit up the cellar for a moment. It had come from the tiny window on the opposite side of the stairs. The silhouette of a woman passed by the window. Was someone walking outside? In the dark? It must be evening by now. No sparse daylight coming into the cellar anymore. Why would someone walk past the cellar? Were they going to take him away? Harry’s fear grew, his throat thickened, his heart beat faster, his face grew hot and he had trouble breathing. He ran as quickly as his body would carry him up the stairs and banged on the cellar door in despair.  
  
He heard footsteps coming, the key turning and Bella opened the door. 

“Harry, what’s wrong?’ she asked. 

“Please, let me out of here, please?” He sobbed.

“What for?” Bella demanded.  
  
“There… there was a light outside, a ghost!” Harry whispered anxiously. He took Bella’s hand, she didn’t shake it off.

“What is all this?” his aunt had come along the corridor. “Bella, why are you letting Harry out? I didn’t give you the orders to do so.”

“Harry screamed so loud, ma’am,” Bella pleaded.  
  
“I won’t stand for such behaviour. He’ll stay an hour longer in here.” His aunt said, about to turn and leave.

“Aunt, please! I can’t endure staying here any longer. Please, let me be punished some other way!”  
  
“Be quiet!” She pushed Harry back and locked the door herself, then left with Bella. Harry gave another heart-rending scream and then collapsed on the cellar floor.

When Harry woke up he felt empty and tired, extremely so. In the distant he heard voices speaking, muffled and whispered. As if he was obscured from them by thick blankets and not fully there. Someone helped him sit up, careful and tender. Something he hadn’t experienced before.He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the moment. When he opened his eyes again, his surroundings became more clear. He was in his own bedroom, lying in his own bed, a fire crackling in the hearth, the small flame of a candle lighting up the left side of the room. It was night. Bella stood at the other side, holding a wet cloth in her hands. When Harry looked at the left side again, he saw something or someone moving in the corner of his eye; a gentleman was sitting on a chair, leaning slightly forwards.  
  
Instead of feeling frightened, Harry felt relief, as if the presence of a stranger would protect him from any accusations or harm. He’d seen the man before at Hazelwood Manor. It was the apothecary, who was called in by his aunt whenever one of the staff were sickly. 

He held out his hand and Harry shook it. 

“Do you know who I am?” he asked.  
  
“Yes, sir. You’re the apothecary from the village.” Harry answered. The man smiled and then gave Bella instructions. Harry was not to be disturbed during the night. He whispered some more, inaudibly and then said, he’d come and visit again tomorrow. When he closed the door behind him, Harry immediately felt a sense of loss. It saddened him inexpressibly.

“Do you want to go back to sleep?” Bella asked him, rather friendly.

Expecting her to add a more rough answer, Harry answered quickly. 

“Yes, please.”

“Would you like anything to drink, or perhaps, eat?”  
  
“No, thank you, Bella.”  
  
“Good. I’ll go to bed too, it’s past midnight. If you want anything tonight, you may call me, Harry.”

Harry wondered what was wrong with him if Bella treated him this nicely.

“Bella, what is wrong with me?”  
  
“You fell sick, in the cellar. You’ll be better soon, don’t you worry.”  
  
Bella went to the adjoining room where she spoke to one of the housemaids. Harry could only hear snippets of the conversation.

“I wonder what he saw in that cellar. He’s in a bad state. I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight; he might die. The missis was too hard on him.” 

“A black crow, sitting on his grave. Something passed him, all dressed in white and then vanished. Three loud raps on his chamber door. A black ruin.”  
  
Those were the last words he heard. The fire in his room and the candle went out. Harry couldn’t fall back asleep. Each shadow he saw behind the window, frightened him. Even if it only was the branch of a tree waving in the wind outside.

Fortunately Harry recovered without any bodily illness followed by the incident in the cellar. His nerves had a severe shock. The mental suffering of his childhood years would stay with him for the rest of his life. Maybe one day he’d be able to forgive his aunt...  
  
He sat by the hearth, a blanket around his shoulders, trying to keep himself warm. He felt weak and broken. Tears fell from his eyes. He wiped them away with his blanket covered fist. They kept falling. He felt utterly miserable, although he should feel happy. The Selleys had gone out in the carriage. They wouldn’t bother him. The servants were busy with their chores, Bella only came in occasionally to inquire, with an unknown kindness, if he needed anything. His nerves, racked from the cellar experience, were in such a fragile state, that nothing could excite or soothe him.  
  
When Bella came back once more, she held a delicious looking tart on a bright coloured  China plate in her hands. Harry recognised the plate being one of his aunt’s best China tableware. The China he’d always admired from a distance, hoping that one day he’d be allowed to study the decor from nearby. Now this pricy piece of China was placed on his knee. Bella encouraging him to eat the pastry that was sitting in the centre of the plate, waiting to be devoured by him. Strangely, he didn’t feel hungry and the plate, as beautiful as it was, didn’t hold the same fascination as it had when put behind the cupboard doors. He pushed the treat aside. Bella took the plate away and asked if he’d rather have a book. Harry looked up and nodded. 

“Gulliver’s Travels, please.” He prefered the book to any fairy tale, as he deemed Gulliver’s Travels to be true. His little excitement about the book being fetched for him from the library was over soon. He turned page after page, but the old feeling of excitement and the daydreaming failed to come. Instead, he saw the drawings in a different light, dark and spooky. He closed the book and put it on the table, next to the untasted tart.

Bella, done with her daily duties, picked up a soft fabric from a drawer and placed a sewing basket on the table as she sat down. She started humming a song, sounding familiar in Harry’s ears. It was a happy song, but now, he found the words depressing and sad.  
  
When Bella finished the song, Harry was full on crying. 

“Don’t cry, Harry.”  
  
It didn’t help, the tears kept falling from his eyes. 

Later that day, the apothecary from the village came to visit.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, as he sat down on the chair next to Harry’s bed.

Bella answered, before Harry could say anything. 

“Oh, he’s doing well.”  
  
“Hmm, he doesn’t look very cheerful. Tell me Harry, I can see you’ve been crying. Can you tell me why?” 

Again Bella answered the question. 

‘He’s been sobbing, because he could not go out with his siblings.” 

“Is that true, Harry?’ the apothecary asked. 

“I would never cry for that. I’m just very miserable.” 

Bella looked disapprovingly at him.  
  
The apothecary frowned and looked at Harry with piercing grey eyes. 

“What made you ill yesterday, Harry.”

 Harry opened his mouth, but Bella interrupted. 

“He had a fall.”

“Is that so, Harry?” He directed his gaze to Harry once more.

“I was knocked down, sir.” Harry explained bluntly and honestly. “It was not what made me ill, though.”  
  
The bell rang, indicating that servants dinner was ready. The apothecary motioned for Bella to go and told her he’d take care of Harry in the meantime.  
  
Bella hesitated, but was obliged to go, punctuality was of great importance in the Selley house.  
  
“You can speak freely now.” The apothecary said, once Bella had left the room.  
  
“I was locked up in the cellar where there was a ghost after dark.” Harry told him without blinking.  
  
The man frowned and smiled at the same time.  
  
“A ghost? Surely not!”  
  
“It must be a ghost. A woman with a candle, holding out her arms like birds wings. And then… she was gone.” Harry took a deep breath. “It was cruel of them to lock me up in there, without a candle. I’ll never forget it.”

“Never heard of such nonsense. Is that why you are miserable?”

“No, sir. It’s just one of the many things that make me miserable. I’m very unhappy.”

“What other things?  Can you tell me some of them?”  
  
Explaining how he felt was too difficult for a boy his age. He could only express his unhappiness through words, but was too young to analyze his feelings. He carefully framed a response.

“I have no parents, nor do I have siblings”  
  
“But you have a kind aunt and cousins.”  
  
Harry paused, before replying.  
  
“But Jules knocked me down, and my aunt had me locked up in the cellar.”  
  
The apothecary kept frowning.

“Hazelwood Manor is a beautiful house. Aren’t you grateful to live at such a nice house?” He asked Harry.

“It is not my house, sir; even the servants think I have no right to live here.”  
  
“Surely, you don’t want to leave a splendid home, like this, Harry!” The man looked at him in disbelief.

“I have nowhere else to go, sir. I can’t leave before I’m a grown man.”

“Perhaps you may, who knows? Do you have any other relatives, besides Mrs. Selley?”  
  
“I think not, sir.”  
  
“Any uncle or aunts on your father’s side?”  
  
“I don’t know, sir. Aunt Selley said, if there are, they’re probably poor. She knew nothing about them. ”  
  
“What if you had, would you rather live with them?” 

The prospect of having to live in poverty did not appeal to Harry either. Starving for food, wearing ragged clothes and living in fireless homes sounded dreadful to him.  
  
“No… I don’t think so.” He replied, shaking his head.

“Even if they were kind to you?”  
  
Harry shook his head again. He was a bright young boy. He’d seen the poor people in the village, speaking in dialect, cursing and most of them were being uneducated. It’s not a life he would choose voluntarily.

“Aunt Selley said, if I had any Styles relations, they must be very poor, sir. I cannot tell.”

“How about school, would you like to go to school?”  
  
He’d heard of young men making a good living for themselves after they’d finished school He’d heard the servants talking about men like them. Men who could read, write and calculate. It sounded very interesting to him. He’d love to learn. It would mean, he’d leave Hazelwood Manor too.

“I should indeed like to go to school,” He told the apothecary..  
  
“Who knows what may happen?” the apothecary said. He got up and mumbled to himself. “He should have a change of air and scene. It might do him good.” 

Bella returned, just as the carriage came rolling up the gravel-walk.  
  
“I should like to speak with Mrs. Selley, before I go.” the apothecary told Bella.

Bella nodded and invited him to walk with her. Harry could only assume what the apothecary wanted to discuss with his aunt. 

Later, when he was in his bed. He heard the maid and Bella talking. Mrs. Selley was thrilled by the idea of having Harry send off to some school in the country. She didn’t know what to do with such a tiresome and wicked child.

He shouldn’t be listening to the maid and Bella’s conversations, but it was then that he learned a little about his parents. His father had been a poor man. His mother had married him against her father’s wishes and therefore had cut her off his will, leaving her penniless. His father had caught the typhus fever, his mother got infected too and within two months both his parents had died as a result.

Then the conversation changed and Harry fell asleep.

Harry could hardly wait for change to come. He was hopeful ever since his conversation with the apothecary and the exchange between the maid and Bella. However, weeks had passed and even though he’d mostly recovered from the incident, nothing changed much, except for a shift in the relationship with his family. His bedroom was now a much smaller room in another wing of the house, far from his siblings and his old room. He didn’t take his meals with his cousins anymore and his aunt refrained from inviting him to the drawing room with his cousins.. Clearly she meant to separate him even more from her own family. She mostly ignored him. Harry spent most of his time in the nursery, alone. His cousins Elisabeth and Georgina spoke to him as little as possible. Jules still tried to provoke him, once hit him but Harry immediately turned against him and stroke him. Jules took off immediately, complaining to his mother in the drawing room that the evil Harry Styles had attacked him. Before Jules could elaborate on the attack, his mother stopped him.

“You were not to go near him, Jules. He’s not worth your time. Don’t associate with him.”

Harry, leaning over the banister, couldn’t resist any longer. He cried out.  
  
“They are not fit to associate with me.”  
  
His aunt looked up with detest and ran up the stairs and dragged him into the nursery, and pushed him in a corner. Her lips were pale and her eyes ice cold.

“My uncle would never treat me this way, had he been alive.” Harry dared to utter. His aunt became livid.

“What did you say?” she said under her breath, there was fear in her eyes, but also contempt.

“He is in heaven. He can see all you do and think and so do my father and mother. They know you wish me dead.” Harry dared his aunt.

His aunt turned around, and left the room, in silence. When Bella came in much later, she told Harry that he was indeed wicked, treating his aunt like he had. And Harry half believed her. He felt bad about what he’d said to his aunt, even though it was true.

Harry wasn’t included in the festivities over Christmas and New Year. He only watched from a distance while his cousins were exchanging gifts and attended dinners and parties. He spent most of his time in the nursery, in solitary. He felt sad, but not miserable. He sat there staring at the fire until the embers died and then burrowed himself under the blankets from his bed to keep warm.

Bella brought him some leftovers from the party and sat on his bed, until he’d eaten the treat. “Sleep well, Harry.” She said when she left. Even though Bella wasn’t always kind to him, she was his favourite person in the house.

It was halfway into January, early in the morning, Harry had been looking through the window after having breathed on the frost-flowers for a while, to clear the window so he could see outside. It was still on the grounds, that were equally covered in frost. A carriage came rolling on the driveway. Harry didn’t pay it much attention. He was more interested in a red robin that put all his effort in picking a frosted berry. The carriage stopped in front of the house. A little later the doorbell rang loudly and someone let the guest in. He heard Bella storm up the stairs and she panted when she asked.  
  
“Harry, have you washed your hands and face this morning?” Harry shook his head. He’d only finished his breakfast just. She hauled him to the washstand, quickly scrubbed his face briefly and then his hands with soap and water. Then took a rough towel to dry him. Brushed his curls rather bristly and then sent him downstairs to the breakfast room.

He slowly descended. He didn’t know why he was summoned to the breakfast room. His aunt preferred to ignore him. He was a little anxious, unsure why he was wanted this morning. He stood before the door, his hands were trembling. He didn’t want to enter, but if he didn’t, what would happen then? Would he be locked up in the cellar again? The thought of being locked up in that dark and damp place again, made him knock on the door. 

His aunt called for him to come in. He opened the door and walked in with his head held low.

“This is the boy.” His aunt said. Harry looked up. Near the mantle stood a tall man, dressed in black, his hands behind his back. He had a tanned, grim face and cold eyes, that observed Harry closely. 

‘He’s skinny. How old is he?” The man asked. 

“Ten years.”  
  
“I see.” The man prolonged his scrutiny a little longer. ‘’What’s your name, boy?”

“Harry Styles, sir.”  
  
“Tell me, Harry Styles, are you a good boy?”  
  
Harry found it impossible to answer the question. Everybody in the house thought him wicked. So he remained silent. His aunt answered for him. 

“Perhaps the less said on that subject the better, Mr. Cowell.”  
  
“Hmm, the boy and I must have some talk.” He sat down in the armchair near the fire, and summoned Harry.

Harry stepped further into the room, until he reached the armchair. Mr. Cowell placed him straight before him and looked up at him.

“How sad. Naughty young boys go to hell after death. Do you know?” Harry nodded.

“Hell is a nasty place, Harry; it’s a pit full of fire where the wicked burn forever.” Mr. Cowell said. “You wouldn’t want to go there, now would you?” Harry shook his head.

“No, sir.”  
  
“So, what  must you do to avoid it?”  
  
Harry thought for a bit and then carefully constructed his answer. 

“I must keep in good health, and not die.”  
  
“And how do you think you’re going to keep in good health, boy? Children die daily. Good children, some even younger than you are. They go to heaven.”  
  
Harry looked down.  
  
“From what I hear, you are a disobeying, wicked and lying child. You should be thankful for such a wonderful aunt who gave you a roof over your head and raises you like one of her own children.”  
  
Harry snorted at that.

“Do you say your prayers night and morning?” Mr. Cowell continued his interrogation.  
  
“I do, sir.”  
  
“Do you read the Bible?”  
  
“When I have to.”  
  
“Don’t you like to read?”  
  
“I do. I like some parts of the Bible.”  
  
“Like the Psalms?”  
  
“No, sir.Those are my least favourite.”  
  
“You don’t? How shocking!”

“Psalms are not... interesting,” Harry remarked.  
  
“Your aunt is right. You have a wicked heart. Which can only be replaced by a good heart by praying to God.”

His aunt pointed to a chair, motioning for Harry to sit on it.

“Mr. Cowell, as I wrote to you a few weeks ago, this boy has not quite the character and disposition I wish for. I’d be very grateful if he you could admit him to Northview School and have the superintendent and the teachers keep a strict eye on him. His worst fault is his tendency to deceive, telling untruths.”

Harry wanted to object. His aunt just accused him of lying in front of this stranger, even though it was far from the truth. The little hope he might have had of a new beginning, had just been crushed by his aunt. Mr. Cowell would surely spread the word and he’d be in the doghouse once again. He repressed an upcoming sob, not wanting to cry in front of his company.  
  
“Deceit is a sad fault in a young boy. We shall certainly keep a strict eye on the boy, Mrs. Selley.” Mr. Cowell said.

“I wish for him to be brought up in a manner that will suit his prospects,” his aunt continued with a straight face.”Useful and humble. With your permission, Mr. Cowell. I’d like him to spend his holidays always at Northview.” She added while looking at Harry in a way that could only be described as satisfaction.  
  
“Of course, madam,” Mr. Cowell assured her.  “We respect your wishes. Harry will be raised according your wishes.”

“Very well,” Mrs. Selley replied with relief. “I think Northview School will be perfect for a boy like Harry Styles.”

“We value the Christian duties at Northview, madam. Harry will live in unsophisticated accommodations, execute chores and receive education. As for his attire: simple and plain clothing is being worn by all the boys.”  
  
“Good. I will send him, then, as soon as possible, Mr. Cowell. It will be good for the boy to be raised in surroundings more suitable for him and his future. The responsibility of raising a boy of inferior descend had become quite burdensome for me”  
  
“I understand, madam. We’ll make sure Harry has a space at Northview within a couple of weeks. Good day, madam.”  
  
Mr. Cowell nodded to Harry and departed in his carriage.

“Child, go back to  the nursery,” his aunt said as soon as Mr. Cowell left. He got up and walked to the door, there he turned to look at his aunt and said as clear as he could.  

“I am not deceitful: I do not lie. I never have. It’s your own children that are deceitful. They are liars. I am not.”

Mrs. Selley looked at him icily.

“Anything else you have to say?” She asked in an even tone.

“I don’t like you. You mistreated me, you are a cruel woman, aunt. I will never forget as long as I live. I have feelings too, I only longed for a bit of love and kindness. You only showed me violence and cruelty.”

His aunt stayed silent.

“Harry, you’d better go to the nursery and lie down for a while, you don’t want to fall ill again, do you? Goodbye Harry.”

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat as he left the room. As he went back to the nursery, guilt washed over him. At first he’d felt relieved, haven spoken his mind to his aunt, his first small victory. His behaviour could only have consequences. It was unheard of, quarreling with one’s elders. Consequences would surely follow. Even if he had spoken the truth.

He tried to read, but none of the books in the library could interest him. Even a short and cold walk in the garden did nothing to clear his mind of the earlier happenings. He shivered and went back inside. 

“Harry, where are you? Lunch is ready!” He heard Bella calling and when she spotted him.”There you are!” A small smile formed around her lips.

 On a whim he wrapped his arms around her waist, without saying anything. She stood there, pushed a few curls from his forehead. 

“You are a strange boy.” She said almost in a whisper. “I suppose you’re going to school?” 

Harry nodded.  
  
“I’ll miss you.” She said.  
  
“Why? I always cause trouble.” Harry asked in wonder.  
  
“Nonsense! You’re just a shy and frightened boy. Your situation is not one to be envious of.”  
That afternoon, when the Selleys were out, Bella had tea with Harry and it would be one of his best memories while living in the house.

Bella even embraced him. That night she told him some of her most enchanting stories and for once in his life Harry felt happy for a few hours.


	2. Northview School

Only four days later Harry would leave Hazelwood Manor to travel to Northview School. He was already dressed when Bella called him. It was early in the morning. The coach would pass outside the gates in an hour. Bella had made him breakfast, but he was too excited to eat. Eventually he managed to get a few spoonfuls of porridge in his stomach. Bella had prepared lunch for him to take with him, slices of bread and a few biscuits wrapped up in a paper and put them in his bag.

She helped him with his coat and hat. She wrapped herself in a shawl and when they passed his aunt’s bedroom door on their way out, Bella asked if he’d like to say goodbye to her, but Harry shook his head.

“No, Bella. She said goodbye to me last night when I was in my bed. She didn’t want to be disturbed in the morning, nor did she want me to disturb my cousins.” 

“I see.” Bella said no more.

They went out the front door. It was dark outside at this hour of the day. Bella carried a lantern. They walked quickly, partly to keep warm and partly to make sure they were on time when the coach would arrive. Harry’s trunk had been carried to the porter’s house the night before. The porter’s wife gave a courteous nod and asked Bella.

‘Is he going by himself?”

“Yes.” Bella answered, while she rubbed her hands. The church clock struck six times. In the distant they heard the rolling wheels of the coach. The lamps were approaching rapidly.  
The coach drew up in front of the gates. Four horses were breathing harshly from their exercise. Harry’s trunk was hoisted up and he was hurried into the coach. Bella gave him a quick kiss on the top of his head.

“Take good care of him.” Bella said to the guard. His answer was a short.

“Ay!’

The door was slapped closed and his fifty miles journey began. Away from his aunt, his cousins and Bella.

The journey in the coach was long and tiresome for a ten year old. They passed several towns, stopped for dinner and resumed their journey. The surroundings changed, instead of friendly towns and villages, great grey hills heaved up in front of them. They descended a valley surrounded by dark trees. Harry felt his eyelids becoming heavy and soon he fell asleep. He was too soon woken by a voice of a young man. He noticed the carriage had come to a stop and the door was open.

“Is there a boy called Harry Styles here?” the young man asked.

Harry quickly answered “Yes,” and was then helped out of the coach. His trunk was handed down. The door closed and the coach instantly drove away.

Harry was a little stiff from sitting still for so long. He looked around. It was too dark to see anything. He followed the young man through a door in a wall before them. The woman locked the door behind them. In front of him was a large house with many windows. In some windows a light burned. They walked over a path covered with pebbles to another door in the building. They walked through a passage into a room with a fire where she left Harry alone.

Harry walked to the fire, unsure of what was going to happen, he took the opportunity to warm his ice cold fingers over the blaze. In the light of the hearth he could make out the shapes of furniture, curtains and carpet. It was a drawing room. When the door opened, two men, one carrying a light, entered the room.

The older man was sturdy with blue eyes and blond hair. He looked him up and down. He appeared friendly.

“This boy is a little young to be sent here on his own.” he said, as he placed the candle on the table. He studied Harry some more and added. “He looks rather tired, he’d better be put to bed.” He said to the younger man and then looked back at Harry, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Are you tired?”

“A little, sir.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 
“You’re probably hungry too. Let him have some supper before he goes to bed, Mr. Murs. Is this the first time you’ve travelled without your parents, boy?”

“I don’t have parents, sir.” Harry replied dutifully.

The man asked how long they’d been dead. Then continued asking him about himself. If he could read and write and what other skills he had. He clapped Harry’s shoulder.

“Very well, boy. Now you go along with Mr. Murs.”  
  
Mr. Murs was nearly twenty years old, Harry assumed. He followed him as he briskly walked through the empty halls, taking turns as he led Harry to a wide, long room. Two wooden tables with a few candles burning on them lined the room. Benches on the long sides of the tables, occupied by boys in the ages from Harry’s age to young men, quite a few of them. They were all dressed alike in beige shirts and brown breeches, held up by braces. The boys were all leaning over books as it was the hour of study.

Mr. Murs pointed for Harry to sit on a bench near the door. He walked to the other side of the room and called in a loud voice.

“Monitors, collect the books and put them away!”   
  
Four older boys stood up from their seats and went round, gathered the books and removed them. Harry watched them. Then Mr. Murs ordered for them to fetch the supper-trays. One after the other the olders boys returned, carrying a tray each, containing a mug, a pitcher of water and portions of food. The boys handed out the food. Surprisingly some of the boys who were thirsty took a bit of water from the pitcher, all using the same mug. When offered to him, Harry drank water, but declined the food. He was exhausted and incapable of consuming anything but the water. Mr. Murs read prayers after supper. When he closed the book, two by two the boys left, going upstairs.

Harry followed Mr. Murs on the stairs. The bedroom was, like the dining hall, long and wide, beds were placed on the long sides of the walls. Each bed was occupied by two boys. Mr. Murs helped Harry undress. He was going to share the bed with the taller boy. In a few minutes all the boys were in bed and the candle was blown out. It went completely dark and silent. A little while later Harry fell asleep.

He only woke up briefly. The wind howled around the school and torrents of rain fell. He turned in bed and almost screamed. He’d almost forgotten there was another person in the bed. Mr. Murs was soundly asleep. Harry closed his eyes again. 

Too soon the night had passed. A loud bell ringing woke Harry from his slumber. All the other boys immediately got up and got dressed. Harry too got up, reluctantly. It was bitter cold, so he quickly put on a shirt and breeches too, that were lying at the foot of the bed for him and waited for a space to open up so he could wash himself at one of the basins, placed on stands in the middle of the room. The bell rang once more. The boys formed a line, two by two and descended the stairs to the cold and faintly lit schoolroom. Mr. Murs read prayers and afterwards commanded.

“Form classes!”   
  
Forming classes appeared to be a less silent task. Mr. Murs exclaimed on repeat the words “Silence” and “Order!”. When every boy stood behind a chair and a table, books in hand and a great book, the Bible, placed in the middle of four tables, silence returned. Mr. Murs walked from class to class.

Another bell tinkled. Three men entered the room, each walking to a table and taking a seat. Mr. Murs took the chair near the door where the youngest children were sitting. Harry was called to sit at the bottom of this class.   
  
Harry’s first day at school had begun. His first hour in class was filled with saying texts of Scripture and reading chapters from the Bible. Again the bell rang, for the fourth time that morning Harry counted. Again the boys got up and marched, like an army of soldiers, to the breakfast room. Harry almost couldn’t control his excitement. He hardly had eaten the day before, and thus felt now famished.

When the smell of something burned reached his nose, his desire for food diminished rapidly. A long grace was said and a hymn sung before they took up their spoons.Burnt porridge was disgusting he concluded after having taken a few spoonfuls.

He glanced aside to the other boys, but saw, to his relief, they were having trouble swallowing the burnt porridge too, but nobody complained. Even though most boys only took a few spoonfuls of the ruined breakfast. Dutifully the boys said grace, thanking for breakfast, they sang another hymn and then the boys vacated the room, in neat lines. Harry looked over his shoulder when he left and caught a teacher tasting a bit of the porridge. His face told Harry enough. Even the teacher couldn’t keep a straight face after tasting the disgusting food. 

Before class started the boys talked amongst themselves, Harry could hear them complaining to each other about the burnt porridge. A few boys were gesturing animatedly where Mr. Murs stood. Harry thought he’d heard them saying Mr. Cowell’s name, but he wasn’t entirely sure. Mr. Murs just frowned.  
  
When the clock struck nine, Mr. Murs cried “To your seats!” 

Silence followed and all the boys sat in their seats within a few minutes. Faces blank, emotionless and with straight backs.

Harry tried to copy the boys as good as he could. All eyes went up as the man who’d welcomed Harry last night entered the room, the superintendent, Mr. Corden, as Harry learned later on.  
  
He gave the monitors orders and soon all the boys were engrossed in their work. The youngest boys were taught how to write. 

After an hour of writing on a slate, he then addressed all the boys. 

‘You shall have bread and cheese for lunch, to compensate for the burnt breakfast this morning. I’m sure you boys are hungry.” He said.  
  
The boys welcomed the unexpected, luxurious lunch with delighted faces.   
  
After lunch they were summoned to the garden. Harry put on a brown jacket and a hat, similar to the other boys’ outfits. They walked along the stream into, what would probably be a very nice garden in Spring and Summer, but now was dull and grey like the garden at Hazelwood Manor this time of year. Each boy was assigned a little bed to cultivate. Some boys were chasing each other, others were herding together for warmth. Some of them were coughing.

Harry stood alone, but he was used to that. He tucked his hands in his pockets, as he watched the other boys playing. 

A boy, his age, sat on a stone, leaving through a book. He looked up when Harry looked at him. Harry walked up to the boy, gathering all of his courage to talk to one of the boys. 

“What are you reading?’ He asked nervously.

“A book.” The boy replied as he examined Harry.   
  
Harry nodded. He could only see words, no pictures. It seemed a bit boring. The boy was about to return his interest to his book, when Harry blurted out. 

‘Why do you live here?’ 

The boy looked up with a sad face, then coughed. 

‘Same as why you’ve come here; I’m an orphan.” He replied. ‘Do you still have a parent?’ 

‘No, never knew them. You?” 

“My mother is dead.” 

“Have you been here long?"  
  
“Two years.” 

“Oh. So all of these boys are without parents?” Harry asked in thought. The boy nodded. 

‘We were all brought here because of it. It’s a charity-school. Partly anyway.” 

“Oh. We don’t pay money for school?” 

“Relatives, friends or we pay a sum, but it’s not nearly enough for education and board.”  
  
“Then… who pays the rest?”   
  
“Several wealthy families in the area and in London.”

“Who is Mr. Cowell?”   
  
“He overlooks and directs the school. His mother had the school built.” 

“Who is Mr. Corden?”  
  
“He is the headmaster. He has to answer to Mr. Cowell for all he does. Mr. Cowell supplies our food and clothes..”   
  
“Does Mr. Cowell live here too?”   
  
“No, he owns a mansion a couple of miles away.” 

“Is it nice to live here?” Harry continued his interrogation, wanting to know as much as possible about his new home.  
  
“You ask too many questions. I’m going to read now.” The boy cut him off. 

The boy had a strange way of speaking, a dialect unknown to Harry.  
  
Dinner was almost as horrible as breakfast had been; except for it wasn’t burnt, but meant to taste like it did. Harry ate what he could, wondering if every meal at the school would be like today’s meals.

The last meal of the day was a small mug of coffee and half-a-slice of bread, after that study hour, a glass of water and bedtime followed. Harry’s first day at Northview had come to an end.   
  
The next day started as the day before, without the smell of burnt breakfast, compared to yesterday the porridge tasted quite well, even though Harry would have liked a bigger portion.

Bible reading, classes, meal breaks; the school kept a strict regime. Harry learned quickly, it was comforting, knowing what was next to come, but also boring in time. He didn’t have much experience, learning by heart and found it a little hard. 

In the afternoon, Mr. Murs gave each boy a needle, thread and a piece of clothing that needed mending. Harry got a shirt; he had to seam the hem. He heard boys around him groaning almost inaudibly and making long faces. Harry, however, had always liked sewing. He’d learned from Bella, whom, at first, found it strange that a young boy would show interest in mending clothes. Harry liked the feel of fabric against his fingers, sewing a soothing occupation and the result rewarding. Bella had laughed when he’d confided in her. 

‘You are a strange boy, Harry.” She had said.”But you’d make a good tailor.” 

In another corner of the room, the boy Harry had been talking to the previous day, kept being scolded by one of the teachers, Mr. Winston, for his pronunciation of English words. The boy was made to read from a book and did poorly, according to Mr. Winston.

“Horan, repeat that sentence once again” Another thing Harry noticed. The boys were all called by their surnames. When the boy finally got it right, instead of receiving praise from Mr. Winston, the boy was once again scolded for his pronunciation. 

“Useless, you are.” Later Harry found out, Niall Horan was originally from Ireland, explaining why he pronounced words a little differently.

Harry wondered why Horan didn’t reply, defend himself. Another thing he would learn a little later, never go against Mr. Winston’s remarks. Horan had to fetch a bundle of twigs from another room. He bared his neck. Mr. Winston hit him with the twigs many times. Horan didn’t even flinch, although Harry did, involuntarily. He wanted to scream at Mr. Winston, telling him to stop, but of course he couldn’t do that, so he returned his focus on his sewing, just like the other boys. After the punishment, Horan was dismissed. 

Harry sat down near a fire that night, when they had time off. Not used to the cold, as at Hazelwood Manor the servants always would make sure there was a fire burning in the rooms. He rubbed his hands and enjoyed the heat, while he scanned the room. Groups of boys were scattered across the room. Harry heard them talking, which was very welcoming after all the quietness of the day. A few candles were lit, giving the room a soft glow.   
  
Outside it had been snowing all day, the harsh wind blew through the cracks in the building making the boys shiver during the day when the fires were reduced to a mere simmer.   
  
Horan, came to sit opposite Harry, warming himself too. He brought his book. 

“Still reading the book?’ Harry asked. 

“Yes, almost finished.” Horan replied. 

“What is it called?” Harry desperately wanted to talk to the boy.  
  
“The Prince and the Pauper.” Horan replied. “Do you know it?”   
  
“I haven’t read it, but I think my aunt kept a copy in her library.” Harry said.

“Don’t you like to read?” He asked. Harry shrugged. 

“I preferred picture books about far away places.” He placed his hands under his thighs, to keep them warm. “What is your name besides Horan?”  
  
“Niall.”   
  
“Do you come a long way from here?”   
  
“I come from Ireland, a place called Mullingar.”   
  
“Do you think, you will ever go back?”   
  
“I hope so, I loved it there.”   
  
“You must hate this school.” Harry said, thinking about the punishment Niall received earlier.   
  
“No, I don’t. Why would you say that?  I was sent here to get an education, it was a great opportunity.”   
  
“But… Mr. Winston hit you with twigs. That is cruel!” Harry said passionately. Niall looked up in wonder.   
  
“Cruel?  Not at all, mate. He’s just correcting my speech so I can find a good job when I’m old enough to find work.”   
  
“I would break the twig if I were hit with it. I’d resist.” Harry said wholeheartedly. Niall shook his head, a small smile formed around his lips.

“You wouldn’t, because if you did, Mr. Cowell would expel you immediately and where would you go then, hmm? If you’re smart, you’ll just endure punishment. It is far better for you and everyone you’re related to.”

Harry stared into the fire, thinking about Niall’s words..   
  
“How can you bear being beaten?”

“You’ll just endure. You’ll learn, Styles. You have to, if you want to survive outside these walls.”   
  
“Surely the world isn’t that bad?” Harry asked a little scared. Niall kept his silence, which made Harry think about unknown dangers in the future. He’d rather not think about.   
  
“Mr. Murs seems nice.”   
  
Niall smiled.   
  
“Mr. Murs is nice. His way of correcting pupils is far more gently. He tells us how to better our behaviour instead of striking us. He praises you when you’ve accomplished a difficult task. I have the misfortune of being loud and careless, which annoys Mr. Winston extremely. He believes corporal punishment will beat it out of me ”   
  
“I see.” Harry said.   
  
“Don’t worry. You seem like a well-behaved, studious boy, from what I’ve seen so far. If you obey and endure, you’ll be fine.”   
  
Harry frowned and hesitated, but felt the need to express his concern.   
  
“But what if I dislike someone very much and they dislike me and punish me unjustly, I can not just endure, I must resist.”   
  
“You will change your mind, I’m sure. You’ll grow older, get used to living at Northview. You’ll learn.” 

“I don’t see how.” Harry replied.

“Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; do good to them that hate you and despitefully use you: it’s in the Bible.” Niall continued.   
  
“I can’t possibly bless my cousin Jules, nor love my aunt Selley; that is impossible.”

Niall raised an eyebrow and Harry explained his words to him, telling him about his life at Hazelwood Manor.

Niall listened patiently, but only remarked shortly, after Harry finished his life story. 

“I won’t say she’s been kind to you, but you’ll learn to see things in a different light in time, trust me.” Niall stood up and left, as he’d been summoned by a monitor.

Life at Northview was a struggle for Harry; it wasn’t as much the physical hardship as it was adjusting to the rules and tasks, but most of all, the fear of failure. Afraid of making mistakes and thus being punished for them, is what Harry struggled with mostly.

The winter months proved to be a physical hardship. The boys’ clothing did little to protect them from the severe cold; deep snow, frosty air and cold winds were seeming eternal. The boys spent most of their time within the walls of the school, only leaving the premises to go to church. Every day they spend time outside, no matter how cold the weather. They had no boots to keep their feet warm, nor gloves to keep their hands from going numb. Warming by the fire was almost impossible for the younger boys, as the older boys made sure they were by the fire first, pushing the younger boys aside. 

Food became scarce in the winter season, not nearly sufficient amounts of food to feed all the boys, growing boys. The older boys pressed the younger boys, to give part of their portion to them, making sure none of the teachers would notice the abuse. Harry didn’t escape the abuse. Many nights he went to bed feeling extremely hungry after having to give up a substantial part of his meals, letting silent tears fall in the dark room, as he tried to fall asleep.  
  
A shock went through Harry when Mr. Cowell arrived unexpectedly. He talked to Mr. Corden briefly.   
  
“It has come to my attention that the boys’ clothes are in a deplorable state. Holes are not mended well, loose hems. Make sure their clothes are in a better state, next time I come to visit.” Mr. Cowell commanded.   
  
“Of course, sir.” Mr. Corden replied.   
  
Mr. Cowell nodded.   
  
“Expenses for lunch have gone over budget, can you explain, Mr. Corden?”  The men walked away and Harry wasn’t able to overhear any more of their conversation.   
  
After having finished his conversation with Mr. Corden, Mr. Cowell looked around the classroom and then pointed to Harry. 

“Mr. Corden, why does that boy have long curled hair?” He pointed his finger at Harry, accusingly. “Why isn’t his hair cut short? Curls are not conform the rules, Mr. Corden.”

“Styles’ hair curls naturally, sir.” Mr. Corden replied quietly.

“Make sure his hair gets cut short, very short. He looks like a girl. The boys are here to become hard working, humble men. Vanity is a sin. You’re to teach them sobriety and obedience. ”

“Yes sir.” 

“Styles, you said? Isn’t he the new pupil, sent by Mrs. Selley?’ 

Mr. Corden nodded. 

“Mr. Styles, will you come over here, immediately?” Mr. Cowell called Harry.  
  
Mr. Murs pushed Harry forward when he made no move. 

“Don’t be afraid, Harry.”

“Place the boy on that stool.” Mr. Cowell commanded to one of the older boys. The boy lifted Harry and placed him on said stool.   
  
“Boys, Mr. Corden. This boy is evil. He is a liar, disobedient and vain. He must be shunned. His aunt raised him as one of her own children after he was being orphaned. Instead of being grateful, he accused his cousins, he was being audacious to his aunt. You’d to exclude him from gatherings, avoid his company. Be on your guard for this boy, for he is evil. Mr. Corden I trust you to do what is right.” 

Harry was forced to stand on the stool for all to see until the end of the school day. When five o’clock struck and the room was empty, Harry climbed off the chair and let himself fall onto the ground. Tears flowing from his eyes, falling onto the floorboards. All of his efforts to be a good boy were wiped away by the statement of that awful Mr. Cowell. How could he ever prove Mr. Cowell was wrong when he wasn’t allowed to mingle with the other boys? Was being excluded from gatherings? Would Mr. Corden follow Mr. Cowell’s orders? Would Mr. Murs still teach him how to speak French, how to draw and sew? Harry felt like all of his future dreams were shattered at once.

He heard footsteps approach, he quickly sat up, wiping his tears away with the sleeve of his beige shirt. When he looked up, he saw Niall coming up to him in the empty room, carrying bread and coffee.   
  
“Come, eat something,” he said. Harry shook his head, if he ate now he was sure he would throw up. Niall sat down on the cold floorboards and looked at him. Harry’s tears kept flowing no matter how hard he tried to wipe them away.  

“Niall, you shouldn’t be here. What if they catch you? Mr. Cowell said you shouldn’t seek my company.” Harry whispered, still sobbing.

“Harry, do you really think we believe Mr. Cowell?” Niall asked quietly.

“Yes?”

“Mr. Cowell is not liked here. Most boys pity you for being put on the spot like that. You have nothing to fear.” Niall said as he watched Harry silently trying to drink a sip of coffee. “You’ll see, even the staff won’t treat you any differently than before today.” he reassured Harry. Then he took his hand. “You’re a good boy, a fast learner. They appreciate that. Besides, you are nice, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, you hear me?”   
  
“Niall, how can you be so sure?” Harry wondered, he wanted to believe the other boy, but didn’t see how Niall could be so certain about his words.   
  
“Mr. Cowell just repeated what your aunt told him about you. None of us have experienced any of the things he said about you; so we have no reason to believe him.” 

“Thank you.” Harry wrapped his arms around Niall and rested his head on the slightly older boy’s shoulder. Niall hugged him back, they sat like that for a while until Mr. Corden came looking for them.  
  
“Ah Harry, there you are, please come with me to my room, Niall, since you’re here, you might come as well.”   
  
Harry and Niall followed him through the maze, at least that is what the building to Harry still was, mounted a staircase to Mr. Corden’s flat. Inside it was pleasantly warm, a small fire heated the room. Mr. Corden told them to sit down in the armchairs near the hearth.

“How are you doing, Harry?” he asked, as he looked at Harry. “Did you have a good cry over your ordeal?”   
  
“I suppose so, sir.”   
  
“Then I shall ask you again. How are you doing?”   
  
“I feel awful, sir. I have been wrongly accused and now you, the staff and all the boys will think I’m a liar!” Harry said wholeheartedly.   
  
“We shall not. Here, at Northview, we think of you what you prove yourself to be, my dear Harry.  Continue to act as a good boy, and you will have nothing to fear.” Mr. Corden replied with a small smile.   
  
“Really, Mr. Corden?” Harry couldn’t conceal his surprise at the headmaster’s words.   
  
“Really,” Mr. Corden said. He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder.  “And now tell me who is that lady whom Mr. Cowell called your aunt?”   
  
“Mrs. Selley, my uncle’s wife.  My uncle died many years ago, and he left me to her care.”   
  
“I see. I take it she wasn’t too pleased, caring for you? Hmm?”

“No, sir. According to what the servants said, my uncle made her promise to always keep me before he died.”

“Today you learned a valuable lesson, Harry.” Mr. Corden said. 

“How is that so, sir?” Harry frowned at that. 

“You are always allowed to speak in your own defence. You’ve been accused wrongly, you may defend yourself as well as you can, but remember always speak the truth as you remember it. Never add happenings or exaggerate things. That is important, Harry.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Will you tell me about your childhood at your aunt’s residence?”

Harry did, choosing his words carefully. Trying not to exaggerate, but telling the truth without adding his own resentment; just the events as they happened more objectively.

Harry also told him, and Niall, about that frightful episode in the cellar. It took all of Harry’s restraint to not get worked up and excited, telling the story. He also included how the apothecary had to come and see him after the events.

  
Mr. Corden frowned and looked at Harry in silence for a few minutes.

  
“I shall write to the apothecary; if his reply agrees with your statement, you shall be publicly cleared from every accusation; to me, Harry, you are clear now.”   
  
He stroked Harry’s curls. 

‘You may keep your curls, just a little trim to keep them at bay.” He smiled and then turned to Niall.

“How are you feeling today, Niall?  Did you cough much?”   
  
“Oh, not as much, sir, I think.”   
  
“How is the pain in your chest?”   
  
“A little better, sir.”   
  
Mr. Corden took Niall’s arm and examined his pulse. A frown formed on his forehead, then he let Niall’s arm go and rang his bell. A servant came in. Mr. Corden ordered him to bring tea for the three of them. And toast and butter! Harry could feel his mouth water at the sight of the china cups full steaming tea and the smell of buttered toast.

“Have some toast, boys” Mr. Corden said and winked.

  
Niall and Harry looked at each other and then quickly each took a slice of buttered toast, savouring the taste with delight.   


After tea the boys left. Mr. Corden ruffled Harry’s curls once more and he hugged Niall tightly, which confused Harry. He watched as Mr. Corden sighed sadly, rubbing his hand over his face.

  
“God bless you, my boys!” He said as he let them leave the flat.   
  
A week later, Mr. Corden assembled the whole school in the classroom and cleared Harry from all the allegations Mr. Cowell had made; the apothecary’s answer to Mr. Corden’s letter had been corresponding with Harry’s telling of the events. The teachers clapped him on the shoulder and all the boys cheered.

  
Harry could start anew, cleared from all accusations he set to work afresh. He commenced French lessons, taught by Mr. Murs, he started drawing. Sketching the church, turned out to be quite difficult. Straight lines were not his forte. At night he dreamt of sketching suits for gentlemen. He even dreamt up colour combinations for them. He liked the French lessons, the words in French sounded much more soft and gentle than in the English language. He would study hard to become fluent in the new language.

  
Finally Spring arrived, the smell of fresh air on a sunny April morning, the singing of birds, green leaves hesitantly showing themselves on the tree branches, white and pink blossoms decorating trees, crocuses and snowdrops blooming in the flowerbeds and under the hedges were making Harry smile a little. The days grew longer and warmer, the hardships of winter were slowly dissipating, making his life at Northview School more comfortable. 

The euphoria of Spring arriving was tempered by severe illness. Typhus found its way into the school, turning the schoolroom into a hospital, to separate the, still, healthy boys from the ones that had caught typhus. 

Without classes and other tasks to perform, the boys were left very much to their own devices. More than half of the boys fell ill, catching the infection due to semi-starvation and neglected colds. Mr. Corden took up residence in the classroom turned hospital with help from a few teachers. Mr. Murs helped boys pack who were lucky enough to leave the contaminated grounds, finding shelter with relatives or friends for the time being. Sadly, most boys didn’t survive and were buried soon after their passing, quietly.   
  
Harry enjoyed being outdoors, playing with the other boys. Running through the fields, taking care of their garden plots, growing flowers and herbs, climbing trees. Harry felt free for once in his life, even though the cause of his freedom was one of a deadly nature, which made him feel a little guilty at times, knowing many boys inside the school would never feel this freedom, but instead were waiting for death to come and take them away. All the boys playing outside knew, this could be their last day enjoying the freedom. Typhus was still lurking inside the walls of the school. They could be the next victim any time.   
  
Mr. Cowell and other patrons stayed far away from Northview, fearing infection. With less mouths to feed the portions per boy were much larger now. Thick slices of bread and cheese, a large piece of pie and hot steaming porridge; Mr. Corden’s orders. The sick only ate small portions if they ate at all.   
  
Harry found himself in the company of Ed Sheeran, a boy with ginger hair, a few years older than Harry himself. A boy full of wit and a great singing voice. He would sing songs while they enjoyed their lunch outside in the field, sitting on a rock, overlooking the moors.

“Where is Niall Horan?” Ed asked him when they were enjoying their bread and cheese. “I thought you two got along splendidly?”

“Niall is ill too.” Harry said with a sad voice. He’d been asking Mr. Murs if Niall was in the classroom, but Mr. Murs had only shaken his head. It relieved Harry somewhat, since many of the boys, lying in the classroom, only left in coffins. He hadn’t seen Niall in weeks. He had been removed one night from the dormitory after another coughing fit. Niall had been coughing frequently, ever since Harry had met him on that cold January day, his first day at Northview.

“He is not in the classroom, is he?” Ed asked as he chewed on a crust. 

“No.Mr. Murs said Niall doesn’t have typhus, but he didn’t say what was wrong with Niall. That is why he is not in the classroom.” 

“Oh.” 

When they returned later in the afternoon, the doctor’s carriage stood before the door. Ed and Harry looked at each other. If the doctor was here, again; another boy must have fallen ill.  
  
The doctor and Mr. Murs came out and were talking quietly. The doctor climbed into the carriage and rode off. Harry and Ed approached the teacher.

“Is there another boy ill?” Ed asked immediately. Mr. Murs looked at them and shook his head.   
  
“It’s Niall Horan. He is very poorly, I’m afraid” he answered.   
  
“W...will he live?” Harry almost whispered, eyes wide.   
  
“He won’t be with us for much longer.” Mr. Murs replied softly. “He is in Mr. Corden’s room.” 

“Can I… can I see him?” Harry asked timidly. 

“Niall is too ill, Harry. You don’t want to get sick too, do you?” Mr. Murs turned around and closed the door behind him. 

Ed looked at Harry. 

“Come on, we have to go in.” He patted Harry on the shoulder.”I’m so sorry, Harry.”  
  
It was late at night when Harry, sneaked out of the dormitory, wearing only his night dress and socks to cover his feet. On tiptoe he left. The other boys were all fast asleep. He softly closed the door behind him and left, then lit a candle he brought, before he climbed the stairs and crossed the passage to Mr. Corden’s room. He passed the classroom door. He heard coughing and the smell of camphor and burnt vinegar made him pass the room as quickly as he could, holding his shirt against his mouth as he moved. He needed to see Niall one last time, say goodbye to him. He’d been his friend ever since Harry had arrived at Northview.   
  
Once Harry stood before Mr. Corden’s flat, his heart pounded in his chest, the door was slightly ajar. Harry took a deep breath and pushed the door a little further open, so he could peek inside. He was met with total darkness. He could see Mr. Corden’s bed; it was unoccupied. Next to the bed stood a makeshift bed; in it Harry could see the contours of a small person. Harry approached on tiptoe; he didn’t want to frighten Niall. 

In the light of the candle Harry saw the pale and tired face of his friend.   
  
“Niall” he whispered softly, “are you awake?”   
  
Niall opened his eyes and turned his head slowly towards Harry. He gave a small smile when he saw his friend.

“Harry?” he asked, his Irish accent even more present.   
  
“Hello.” Harry said as he kneeled down beside the bed, putting the candle on a table.   
  
“How did you come in here? It is late.”   
  
“I came to see you, Niall: Mr. Murs said you were very ill, and I just wanted to see you. I missed you.”   
  
“You’re here to say goodbye, aren’t you?” Niall answered. Harry looked down. He didn’t know what to say to his friend. 

“I’m happy to see you, Harry. I missed you too. I’m going home, to my parents, in heaven.” Niall said with a smile.  
  
“No, no,Niall, don’t say that!”  Harry said in distress. He tried to stop his tears from falling by wiping them from his eyes with the sleeve of his nightdress. Niall had another coughing fit. When it was over he lay a few minutes. Harry could see the coughing had exhausted him. Niall whispered.

“Come, lay next to me and cover yourself with the blanket; you’ll catch a cold. Mr. Corden would not approve of that.”   
  
Harry climbed in bed next to NialI; he put his arm over him and Harry nestled close to him.

“I don’t fear death, Harry; I will see my beloved parents again. Although I am exhausted from this illness, I’m not in pain. My mind is at rest. You have to promise me one thing, Harry.” Niall’s voice was hardly audible. 

“Anything.” Harry whispered back. 

“Promise me, you make something of your life. You have many talents, use them. Believe in yourself.”

“I… I promise.” Harry’s eyes filled with tears.

“Good boy, Harry. We’ll meet again in heaven one day”   
  
“You...you think so?”   
  
“I’m sure of it. I’m tired, I’m going to sleep. Don’t leave me, Harry.”   
  
“I’ll stay with you, Niall.”   
  
The next morning, very early, Mr. Corden woke Harry. His arms were still around Niall’s body. He felt cold. 

‘Niall is gone, Harry.” Mr. Corden said with tears in his eyes. Harry wanted to cry, but somehow he couldn’t. He gave a soft kiss to Niall’s pale and cold face. Then he stepped out of bed. Mr. Corden covered Niall’s silent body and took Harry’s hand and lead him back to the dormitory. 

Niall was buried in the churchyard, near Northview School, like so many of the other boys Harry had known, if only for a short while. He would never forget Niall. 

The night after Niall’s buriall, Harry had his first nightmare since leaving Hazelwood Manor. A crow sat on his grave, a woman passed by with a candle, waving her arms like a bird. Her head thrown back. She was laughing. Was she laughing because Harry was dead? Then there were flames, lots of flames. He heard someone screaming his name.


	3. Northview School, 10 years later.

Typhus took many lives, drawing attention to the school. In the next years life at Northview School improved significantly. Mr. Cowell was dismissed as a treasurer, much to his dismay. In his place there was now Mr. Azoff, a much more pleasant man.The quality of water and food got a lot better. The boys received healthy portions of breakfast, lunch and dinner. Their living quarters were renovated and even the boys’ clothes were replaced by warmer fabrics for winter and cotton shirts for summer and no longer uniform. Still the dull colours, though, much to Harry’s disappointment. He loved brighter colours, embellish his outfits with ribbon and fabric, which was encouraged by Mr. Murs and Mr. Corden. Harry loved sewing even more than in his younger days. Whenever he had a spare moment, he could be found with needle, thread and fabric outside in the garden, on a bench. Not only did he become good at sewing, he now was a teacher at Northview School, teaching the younger boys and he loved it. He’d almost perfected speaking French like a true native French man. Drawing and sketching landscapes were replaced by sketching suits. Gradually he gained a small wardrobe of suits that were both suitable for school as a little outstanding in cut; he sketched and tailored his own suits and shirts when possible.

“You’ll become a famous costume designer in future.” Ed sighed when he sat next to Harry on the bench, quill pen and paper in hand. Ed created the most beautiful poems.

‘You’ll be the best poet, England has ever known.” Harry complimented him in return, both grinning, knowing it was very unlikely for them to become famous, nevertheless they indulged each other with their dreams for the future. Ed wanted to write a book, it was his big dream. Harry’s dreams were more practical. He wanted to keep teaching, he loved teaching the little ones. His only wish, a secret wish, was to be able to go to the theatre. He’d heard the patrons talking about plays, concerts and opera and it fascinated him, especially when they were talking about the costumes actors would wear on stage. Harry would love to see it with his own eyes. He kept that wish to himself.  
Harry closed his eyes for a while, enjoying the feel of the sun on his face for a while.

“I can’t believe, I’ve been here for 10 years now.” He said to Ed. 

“Neither can I.” Ed replied as he scribbled on the paper. Both had been teachers for the past two years. Harry teaching French and sewing, both subjects not very popular with the boys, but every one of them tried their best, because they liked their teacher very much.

“You should try for a position at an all girls school.” Mr. Corden had once chuckled, after Harry had shaken his head, checking on his class’ attempt to mend socks.”I’m sure your efforts are much more appreciated by girls, than by our boys.” Although Harry would have liked the boys to be a little more enthusiastic about sewing and mending, most boys viewed it as a ‘girl’s job”. They prefered chopping wood for the fireplace.

In the past years Harry had become a much loved boy and later, teacher. He got along with everyone, treated everybody with kindness. And in return was treated the same way. In general he felt happy. If only those terrible nightmares would stop. Why was that woman with the candle haunting him? Why was there always a fire? Would a fire be the cause of his future death?

Mr. Corden had left the school a few months ago and Harry missed him a lot. The headmaster had been his companion, his guide and Harry had come to rely on him in difficult times. Ever since Mr. Corden had left, Harry felt restless. Northview felt less of a home without Mr. Corden. He had become quiet, he caught himself staring out of the window during his lessons, his mind wandering off, wondering what lay beyond the familiar walls of the school.

He’d never heard from his aunt or cousins again, never was allowed a visit to Hazelwood Manor, nor had they ever visited him. The only life he had known was within the walls of the school, he’d adopted a routine, followed the rules, but he had no knowledge of the world outside. He felt the need to expand his life experience, to explore the world outside these walls, liberty, freedom.   
  
He voiced his thoughts to Ed, who didn’t look surprised at Harry’s revelation.They had been sharing a room together, since they both started teaching.

“You need a job to survive in the world, Harry. You’re a good teacher, you could become a tutor, or…. a tailor.”  
  
“But how do I go about finding a job and living quarters?” 

“You could advertise in the newspaper.” Ed told him. 

“How?” Harry asked. Ed smiled. 

“If you’re sure about all of this, I’ll help you.”  
  
“I’m sure.” Harry said with confidence. 

Ed told him the procedure, how he needed to pay for the advertisement, write the advertisement and how he had to direct it all to the editor.   
  
“Then you walk to the post office in the village, post the letter and have answers addressed to Harry Styles at the post office in the village. You can inquire in about a week after sending your letter, if there are any letters addressed to you.” 

“How come you know this?” Harry asked as he wrote down the instructions. Ed blushed a little. 

“I applied for a job at a newspaper.” 

“Oh! Have you heard from them yet?” Harry was all of a sudden quite interested. 

“No, not yet. Applications could be send until the end of the month.” 

“How exciting! I’m going to miss you though, if you leave.” 

“Looks like we’re both leaving.” Ed replied softly. 

Together they drew up Harry’s advertisement and Harry brought it to the post office, the next day. Now he would just have to wait. He felt a spark of excitement when he walked back to the school. For once he was in charge of making a decision of his own, for his future. It felt … liberating.  
  
A week never lasted as long as the next week. Both Harry and Ed were anxiously waiting for a chance to walk to the post office together, supporting each other. 

On Saturday they went to the village. They stood outside the post office for a while, before going in, both anxious and excited for the possibility of receiving a letter that might change their futures.

Ed asked first. The lady at the counter checked and smiled as she picked up a letter addressed to Mr. E. Sheeran. Ed’s hands were shaking a little when he accepted the letter from her. Then Harry asked.  
  
“Are there any letters for Harry Styles?” he asked.   
  
The lady turned back to the drawer where Ed’s letter had been taken from and fumbled through several letters. She finally picked a letter and handed it to Harry. Only one. He felt  a little disappointed, he’d hoped there would be a little more. They thanked her and went back outside.   
  
Both kept their letters in their pockets to read them later in private. They walked back to the school in silence, each caught up in his own thoughts. At school they had to resume their duties for the day. It was Harry’s turn to read prayers and make sure the boys were in bed on time. 

When they finally retired for the night they were able to read their letters. Harry postponed opening his’ . Ed read his letter, his eyes grew wide and he looked up to Harry. 

“They hired me. I can’t believe it. I’m going to be a journalist, Harry. “ He exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down. Harry hugged him. 

“I’m so happy for you!” Harry said. 

“Aren’t you going to read yours?” Ed asked after a while. 

Harry picked up his letter, broke the seal and read the letter.

“Mr. Styles, we at Thorgill Hall, Swellbeck can offer you a position as a tutor for a 10 year old boy, if you posses the acquirements mentioned in your advertisement. The salary is thirty pounds per annum. We request you send references, name address and all particulars to Mr. Payne, Thorgill Hall, Swellbeck, Yorkshire.”

“Congratulations, Harry.” Ed said smilingly. Harry looked up, still a bit uncertain. Someone deemed him good enough to be a tutor to a ten year old boy. Probably Mr. Payne’s son … or grandson. He couldn’t be sure. The handwriting resembled that of a younger man. Yorkshire, it would take quite a ride by carriage to get there. 

Together they looked up the county on the map and started looking for the village; tucked away in the North York Moors. 

‘A Hall, it probably is quite a walk from the house to the village.” Ed mused. Harry shrugged, he didn’t care that much. He was happy for this new opportunity.  
  
Mr. Corden and Mr. Murs kindly wrote references, when Harry wrote to them. Both were happy for him and wished him good luck on his new function. A testimonial of character was written by Mr. Azoff. A month later, Harry finally could post the required documents to Mr. Payne. 

A reply came very soon: Harry was to start his new function in a fortnight. Harry busied himself, instructing the new teacher who had come to replace him, someone from outside the school. He packed his belongings and modest wardrobe in his trunk, the same he had brought with him ten years ago from Hazelwood Manor.   
  
The trunk was corded, a card with its destination nailed on and sent forward to Thorgill Hall a day before Harry would leave Northview School. He said goodbye to his students and the staff at Northview. 

‘So, this is it. We’re both leaving in the morning.” Ed said that night. Their last night in their shared bedroom. They would travel together to the village and from their would take different coaches to their new homes. 

‘You’ll write, of course?” Harry questioned. Ed nodded. 

“Of course I will.” 

“Good. I’d love to hear about your new life in the city.” Harry said with a small smile. He was sad to see them going different ways. Ever since Niall had died, Ed had been Harry’s best friend at the school.

Both dressed in their coats as they waited outside the gate for the carriage to arrive. The ride to the village was quiet, both men unable to make small talk. 

In front of the old pub they descended the carriage and waited for Ed’s coach to arrive. They hugged one last time and promised to write each other as soon as they arrived at their respective destinations.  
  
Ed waved from his seat on the coach, Harry waved back with tears in his eyes. When ten minutes later his coach arrived he sat down on a seat near the window and took a deep shakily breath. His first journey since he arrived at Northview, taking him to an unknown environment, just like the journey from Hazelwood Manor to Northview School had been.

 


	4. Thorgill Hall

Harry stepped of the coach in Pickering and waited for a carriage to bring him to Thorgill Hall. He could see the old castle and wondered about its history. He heard the clock striking ten. He’d been traveling for five hours already. In Mr. Payne’s letter it was said someone would come and collect him from the coach station. Harry sat on his trunk, rubbing his hands. It was a cold autumn morning, the chill came back after months of absence. A carriage approached the station; the driver halted in front of Harry.

“Is your name Styles, sir?”   
  
“Yes.”   
  
Harry jumped up. The driver got off the carriage and lifted Harry’s trunk onto it. 

“Have a seat, sir. I’ll take you to Thorgill Hall.”  
  
Harry climbed into the carriage and sat down with a sigh. He felt relieved. Only a few miles more and he’d reached his destination. 

The driver fastened the carriage door and climbed to his own seat outside and they set off. Harry watched the landscape pass by. The moors were coloured in purple and red as far as Harry could see; very picturesque. He was already looking forward taking strolls over those hills.  
  
He wondered about the family that employed him. Were they a young family? Was Mr. Payne a widower, perhaps? He hoped Mr. Payne would be a nice man, like Mr. Corden, but what if he turned out to be a cruel and unkind man, such as Mr. Cowell? Harry shook his head. That wasn’t possible. He couldn’t imagine any man to be as unpleasant as Mr. Cowell had been.

The sun finally showed and Harry let down the window and looked out; Pickering was far behind them. He could see a few houses scattered all over the hills. The Yorkshire Moors were less populated, as far as he could see there were only a few farms and houses on the hills and sheep.... lots of them. The driver turned towards Harry and smiled. 

“We’re almost there, sir.”   
  
They rode through a hamlet, in the middle a church towered above the surrounding cottages. The bell tolled eleven as they left the village. Another fifteen minutes before they stopped in front of a gate. The driver opened the gate. Another few minutes and the carriage stopped in front of a house. The house was made of Yorkshire stone. Harry opened the door of the carriage and stepped down, stretched his legs, then followed the driver to the door. A young girl, a maid, opened the door and let him in. 

‘Mr. Styles is here.’ The driver announced and then took a step back to turn back to the carriage.

“Please, follow me, sir.” she said and Harry followed her across a square hall, high doors on each side. She opened a door to the left and let him in; it was a cosy room, not very large, but with fine furniture, velvet curtains and a cheerful fire burning, warming him instantly.

Near the fire, in an arm-chair sat a man, not much older than Harry himself, reading a book. He imagined him to be Mr. Payne.

 “Mr. Styles, sir.” The maid announced. Mr. Payne looked up from his book, got up and walked up to him with a kind smile on his face.

“Welcome, Mr. Styles. “ Mr. Payne shook Harry’s hand. “Please, come sit by the fire. Your hand is feeling awfully cold. Tillie, will you bring Mr. Styles a cup of tea? Thank you.” Tilly, the maid nodded and left.

“Mr. Payne, I suppose?” Harry said.   
  
“Yes, you are right. My name is Liam Payne.”   
  
He helped Harry remove his coat and scarf. It made him feel a little uncomfortable, he was unaccustomed to being helped by a noble man.

“There you go.” Mr. Payne said as he hung Harry’s coat and scarf over the seat of another chair. “I’ll ask the driver to bring the trunk to your room.”   
  
“Thank you, sir.” 

Mr. Payne, left the room. Harry looked around. He’d never had such a warm and kind welcome before. He already liked it here. Soon Mr. Payne returned, holding the door open for Tillie, who came in carrying a tray with two cups, a teapot and ,what looked like, fresh baked biscuits.  
  
Mr. Payne poured tea in both cups and offered Harry one, which he gratefully accepted. Mr. Payne set the plate with biscuits on a small table between them.   
  
“Will I be seeing young Mr. Payne tonight?” Harry asked after he’d taken a sip from his tea.   
  
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Mr. Payne looked at him in surprise.   
  
Harry repeated the question.   
  
“Young Mr. Payne?  Oh, you mean young Mr. Deakin!  Ernest Deakin is the name of your pupil.”   
  
“Oh, I see.” Harry replied with a small frown and then carefully. “He is not your son then?”   
  
“Oh! No, I have no family of my own … yet.” Mr. Payne said softly in a way that betrayed, he hoped he would have one day. Harry didn’t ask more questions. It might be considered impolite, interrogating your employer. He would find out soon enough.   
  
“I’m so glad you could come at such a short notice,” Mr. Payne said. “Ernest’s last tutor left unexpectedly, so he hasn’t been taught in the past month. He is a nice boy, rather lively though. There are only a few servants employed here, you’ll meet them tomorrow. I’m the housekeeper, sort of. We’ll see quite a lot of each other. I’m sure we’ll get along fine.” 

Harry liked to listen to Mr. Payne’s voice, a kind and warm voice. A pleasant man with a friendly face.   
“I’m sure you must be tired, after travelling from so far. I’ll show you your bedroom when you’ve finished your tea. Your room will be next to mine. It’s not a very grand room, but I hope you’ll feel comfortable there.” Mr. Payne said.   
  
A quarter of an hour later, Harry followed Mr. Payne to his bedroom. They walked upstairs. Like Hazelwood Manor, the steps, banisters and wall panels were made of a dark oak. The gallery was equally as dark, bedroom doors were made of the same dark oak. It made for a gloomy atmosphere. Mr. Payne opened a door on the left, Harry expected it to be a dark room too, but much to his surprise it was a much lighter room furnished in an ordinary and modern style. Soft blue curtains, matching the blue and white of the wallpaper and the carpet on the floor. 

“Get some rest. We’ll see you at supper.” Mr. Payne closed the door softly behind him. Harry sat down on the bed and gazed round. What a difference this room made, he could retrieve here peacefully at night. He laid down and looked around once more before he closed his eyes and fell asleep. 

He awoke just before supper, confusedly he looked around, he felt for a candle on the nightstand beside the bed and lit it, then he smiled. He now remembered where he was.  
  
He rose, adjusted his clothes, brushed his hair. And then turned in front of the dressing mirror, no creases visible. His navy and white striped trousers were his latest purchase, bought especially for his new function. He’d paired it with a crisp white French Cuff shirt and a double-breasted navy waistcoat. The simplicity of his school attire he would leave behind him, intending on wearing clothes he liked. His chestnut curls were at shoulder length, although a bit too long for the current fashion, Harry loved his long hair. After Mr. Cowell almost succeeded in Harry having to cut off his precious curls; he vowed to never have it cut very short, like some of the other boys had and Mr. Corden never made him. He liked to look his best, it gave him more confidence. He’d grown rather tall. He’d had a growth spurt at seventeen, much to his delight. He’d always stood out among the boys, longer hair, wide green eyes, dimples in his cheeks, plush pink lips; it gave him a girlish look, compared to his school friends. His love for ruffles and bright colours only emphasized his female side. One cheeky boy even had whispered in his ear, if Harry had been a girl he would have courted him. This admission had made Harry blush furiously, because the boy was very handsome and Harry always felt a little nervous when the boy gave him his attention. 

Girls… he’d seen them, of course. In the village and some boys had cousins visiting them. He’d never felt drawn to them. He did however love their dresses. Girls wore much brighter and patterned clothes than boys. It was Mr. Murs who had encouraged him to enhance his clothing with patterns and colours, when he’d complained to him how dull boys clothes were. 

When he grew older it became clear to him that he just wasn’t attracted to girls. He did however have crushes on a few boys while growing up at Northview, apparently that was wrong, that much became clear after he’d had a conversation with a few other boys, asking him what he would look for in a girl. Blue eyes and blonde hair seemed to be the ideal girl for most boys, when Harry had said he didn’t care for girls, the boys had gasped and one of them had made the remark. 

“I hope you’re not looking for a boy. You’ll end up in jail. It’s a sin.” Although Harry had shaken his head in denial, it had been another shocking experience in his life. He had managed to keep a straight face all through their conversation, another boy telling him, he’d probably would find a girl he liked, he just didn’t know what kind of girls he liked. That seemed to appease the other boys and after that the conversation had steered away from the topic. He’d been walking around with ‘his secret’, as he thought of it, for a few weeks. 

Avoiding all talk about romance, courting and kissing, like sixteen year old boys do, being curious at that age. A worried Mr. Corden had called him up to his flat and had asked Harry if he was alright. First Harry had told him yes, he was, but when Mr. Corden kept staring at him, he couldn’t lie any longer and he’d asked if there was something wrong with him because he never liked girls, like the other boys did. Mr. Corden had looked at him in surprise, clearly not expecting the question. Then he proceeded, very carefully. 

“Dear Harry, it is quite alright for you to not share their excitement for girls. Your heart will tell you who you love, always trust your heart, even if your head says otherwise. Unfortunately, the law restricts us from choosing with our heart sometimes. It can even be dangerous to follow your heart, so always be careful, be sure who you give your heart to. The most important thing is that YOU are happy, even if the law doesn’t agree. Does that answer your question, Harry?” 

Harry had hugged and thanked the headmaster for his support and wise words. 

Harry smiled at the memories and turned around to walk downstairs. He felt a chill as he left his bedroom. There was something eerie about the gallery and staircase in dusk.

He quickly made his way downstairs and then looked around. He had no idea where to go. The hallway was dimly lit and all the doors looked alike.

 A door on the far end opened and Mr. Payne stepped out. 

“Ah Mr. Styles, I was just about to call you.” he said.  “How are you feeling? Did you get some sleep?” 

“As a matter of fact, I did. Thank you.”

Mr. Payne showed Harry to the dining room and told Harry where to sit. 

“It’s only the two of us for dinner.“ Mr. Payne explained as he sat down opposite Harry.“How do you like Thorgill so far?” 

“It is a beautiful house.” Harry replied politely. He hadn’t seen much of it yet.

“It is a beautiful place, if only Mr. Tomlinson would come and reside here permanently instead of visiting it every so often. An estate this big requires the presence of the proprietor or else it will be getting out of order, I’m afraid.” Mr. Payne sighed. 

“Uhm, may I ask… who is Mr. Tomlinson!” Harry asked.

“He owns Thorgill,” Mr. Payne responded quietly.  “Did I not mention him in my letter?”   
  
“No, you didn’t. I thought you owned it, before I came here.” Harry replied a little shyly. Mr. Payne let out a small laugh.

“Me?  No, no! I’m sort of Mr. Tomlinson’s assistant, I run the estate when he is away. He is my friend. We’ve known each other since childhood.“

“Then who is my pupil, Ernest Deakin?”   
  
“He is Mr. Tomlinson’s half brother; he assigned me to find a tutor for Ernest. I’ll introduce you to the little boy. He’s in the kitchen, keeping Tilly and cook company. 

Mr. Payne called for him and a little while later a blond haired boy with blue eyes came in accompanied by Tilly. A young boy still, he couldn’t be much older than seven years old.

“Hello Ernest,” Mr. Payne said.  “I want you to meet the man who is going to teach you and make you a very clever boy someday.” Ernest smiled at the remark.

 “Is he going to teach me French?” The little boy inquired eying Harry a bit sceptical.

“I am.” Harry replied, holding out his hand for Ernest to shake. Ernest did, although a bit reluctantly.   
  
“Ernest lives here for the time being, while Mr. Deakin is travelling through Africa. Mrs. Deakin, the boy’s mother and Mr. Tomlinson’s mother, is not among us anymore. Since her demise the boy has had several nurses and tutors, none of them stayed, unfortunately. Mr. Deakin has an estate in France, which Ernest will inherit one day, so he needs to learn French properly. Your references were commended highly. I’m sure you and Ernest will get along.”   
  
Harry said a few words in French to Ernest; the boy looked at him with big eyes and then replied in the most dreadful French Harry had ever heard. 

“Moi, je m’appelle Ernest.” He seemed very pleased with himself. Harry, however, taught French by a French lady, smiled a bit sour at the pronunciation of the words. He heard Mr. Payne chuckle quietly. 

“Those were the right words. Well done, Ernest.” Harry managed to reply. Teaching French to the boy, was going to be a challenge, he thought to himself. He continued talking to Ernest in English and after ten minutes of chatting with the boy, he could tell the boy was very lively; another challenge. How would he get the boy to sit still and focus on his work? Apparently Ernest didn’t care for books, languages nor maths. He loved animals and the outdoors.

“Louis doesn’t speak French!” Ernest confided in him. Harry looked up at Mr. Payne. ‘Mr. Tomlinson’ he mouthed. “And he has a French name!“ the little boy exclaimed with laughter. 

Harry smiled at him. Ernest seemed a lovely and happy boy with a sense of humor. 

“Maybe … Louis could join us when we do French lessons.” Harry offered. 

“I highly doubt that, Mr. Styles.” Mr. Payne laughed. “Louis was never much interested in French and maths either; in that respect they are true brothers.”

 “Mr. Styles? That is a funny name!” Ernest giggled. 

“Ernest!” Mr. Payne reprimanded him sternly. Ernest sighed.

“My apologies, Mr. Styles.” Then Ernest turned to Mr. Payne.   
  
“Liam, will Louis come and stay soon? I miss him.” Mr. Payne ruffled the boy’s hair before he said. 

“I don’t know Ernest. I hope so. You have to go to bed now. Sleep well. “ 

Ernest wished them goodnight and left with Tilly, who had been called by Mr. Payne. 

“He misses Louis a lot, it’s a bit lonely at the estate for a young boy.” Mr. Payne said to Harry when they were alone and ate their dinner.

 ***

Harry spent the next morning partly in the library, teaching Ernest the basics of maths. The boy could only sit still for so long, and was easily distracted. After two hours he took Ernest outside and they gathered pebbles. Harry asked him if he could remember what Harry had taught him that morning. Ernest sighed and shook his head. Harry used the pebbles to explain to Ernest what they had been practicing that morning. Counting pebbles, adding and deducting little stones appeared to be a lot more interesting to the boy than sitting behind a desk and he smiled brightly now he understood what Harry had been teaching him all morning in the library. Harry smiled too; Ernest was going to be a challenge to teach, he would have to improvise on his lessons to keep the boy’s attention and to make him understand the basics.Harry returned to the library after lunch to pick a book from the many shelves. Mr. Tomlinson kept an array of works in his extensive library. Harry chose a travel book and walked through the hall, when he heard Mr. Payne call his name. 

‘Mr. Styles. How was your first morning teaching Ernest?” He asked from a drawing room. Harry stepped in the room, pleasantly surprised by the interior of the room. Burgundy red carpet and matching curtains hung before the large windows, the walls were covered with soft green wallpaper and and a plush sofa in yellow gold stood prominent in the room. Mr. Payne was placing a vase on a side table, near the window.

“Ernest is a lively boy, but once we practiced the sums he was taught that morning in the library, outside using pebbles, he was a lot more interested in his studies.” Harry smiled at Mr. Payne. 

“He loves the outdoors, he certainly doesn’t like to sit behind that desk in the library. He’s still young. He’ll learn.” 

“He will, I just need to balance the lessons for him, so he does learn what he’s been taught, even if it’s in an unorthodox way.” Harry replied. “This room looks beautiful.” He looked around once more. 

“It’s Mr. Tomlinson’s favourite room in the house.” 

“Will Mr. Tomlinson be back soon?” Harry asked. He was a bit curious what kind of man his employer is. 

“His visits are rare, sudden and always unexpected, so we keep all the rooms ready in case he suddenly visits.”  
  
“What kind of man is Mr. Tomlinson?”   
  
“A gentleman with his own tastes and habits.” That didn’t exactly put Harry’s mind at ease. The man sounded a bit peculiar, the way Mr. Payne described him.

“Is he nice? I mean, do people in general like him?”   
  
“Oh, absolutely: he’s very much respected in this neighbourhood.  The Tomlinsons are an old noble family, almost all the land, as far as you can see, has belonged to his ancestors for many generations.”

“But… is he liked for himself?”

“He is like a brother to me. Of course, I like him.”

“Can you tell me more about him? He sounds like a peculiar man to me.”

“He is, I suppose. One never knows exactly what he means when he speaks. He might speak the truth, he might just be teasing. He’s travelled a lot, seen the world. He is a smart man. You’ll see when he visits.”   
  
Mr. Payne switched the topic. He proposed to show Harry the rest of the house.   
  
The downstairs rooms were all equally beautiful like the drawing room they just came from. The first floor is where the bedrooms were, these were all furnished in soft colours. The dark and gloomy landing was quite the contrast to the downstairs rooms and the bedrooms. Harry followed Mr. Payne through a heavy oak door and to another corridor which was as gloomy as the landing where they came from. The bedrooms in this part of the building were dark and decorated with furniture from the past. Dark painted walls and heavy oak in each room.

“Do the servants sleep in these rooms?” Harry asked.   
  
“Oh no; they have their rooms in the back of the house. Nobody ever sleeps here, we don’t use this part of the house.” Odd, but since there were many rooms on the first floor, understandable; those were much nicer to retreat in.   
  
Mr. Payne continued walking, opened another door and went up a very narrow staircase. It lead to another door.on the right and one on the left. They turned right. The door opened to the roof of the building. 

“Isn’t the view magnificent?” Mr. Payne said once they were both standing on the roof. Harry peered down over the roof. It was quite high. Then he looked around and he could confirm that yes, the view over the grounds and hills was indeed magnificent. 

‘Do you come here often?” He asked. 

‘No. It’s quite the climb, but I wanted to show you.” 

They stayed for a while, Mr. Payne pointed out the name of the hills to Harry. On their way downstairs Harry heard laughter, coming from behind the other door. He startled and waited before taking another step. It ceased and Harry stepped down. Then there was it again. It was the sound of a woman laughing loudly.

“Mr. Payne?” Harry called after the man, who was now descending the great stairs. “Did you hear that laugh?”

“Oh!” Mr. Payne stopped and looked back up to Harry. “It’s probably one of the servants. Probably Bebe Rexha.”

“But.. did you hear it?” Harry again asked.   
  
“Yes, I often hear her: she sews in one of these rooms. Tilly joins her sometimes. Together they can be very noisy.”   
  
Again the laughter started. It sounded strange; it wasn’t a genuine laugh, it was more fabricated. Ghostly and eerie. It made Harry shiver. He had his own demons, he didn’t need another ghost to add to it.   
  
“Bebe!” Mr. Payne exclaimed..   
  
Much to Harry’s surprise, the door on the left opened and a beautiful woman with big brown eyes and blonde hair appeared in the doorway. A woman appeared a little bit older than Harry was.

“Please keep the noise down, remember the directions.” Mr. Payne said. Bebe nodded silently and went back inside. 

“Bebe assists Tilly and she sews. She can be loud, but overall she’s a kind woman.” Mr. Payne explained and they descended the stairs. Harry looked over his shoulder. He wasn’t totally convinced the strange laughter had come from Bebe. 

***

  
Months passed and Harry got used to life at the hall. Ernest was indeed a lively child and Harry still found it hard to keep the boy’s attention on the lessons. He was easily distracted and Harry more than once had to be very resourceful to interest the boy in his studies. They spent part of the lessons in the library and partly outside. Ernest wasn’t particularly bright, but he made progress, even though it was in an uncommon way.

He liked to wander around on the grounds, his favourite spot was the stream that made his way over the grounds coming from the hills and into the hamlet. He found a spot, a bit secluded, where he could sit down and draw when he didn’t teach the little boy. Ernest liked helping out at the stables and the stable boys didn’t mind having the boy around. 

More often than not he heard Bebe’s strange laughter and sometimes she shouted something Harry hadn’t been able to understand. He would see her when she went into the kitchen carrying a tray. She didn’t engage in conversation with Harry. Only nodded in greeting.  
  
Nor did he speak much with the other servants. Tilly was nice, but only spoke when spoken to. Mr. Payne, Liam as they had agreed to call each other by their first names, was his only companion at the hall. No sign of Mr. Tomlinson yet. 

After Christmas Ernest went to see his father who had returned for a short visit. Harry suddenly found himself with lots of time on his hands. It was too cold to sit outside beside the stream, so he sat in his room and wrote a long letter to Ed, who enjoyed working for the newspaper very much. His job sounded much more exciting than Harry’s did. When he’d finished writing about his life at the hall, he wrapped himself in his coat, wrapped a scarf around his neck and put on his boots. He said goodbye to Liam, told him he’d be walking to the village to post his letter and if Liam needed anything from the village. 

It was a pleasant winter afternoon walk. The ground was hard, frozen and the air was still with no one in sight. He was the only person walking in the cold. His pace was steady, keeping him from getting cold. A pale sun beam made his surroundings look a lot more pleasant than they looked on the usual cold and cloudy winter days. The church bell tolled. Only a mile before he reached the hamlet.  
  
The lane to the heart of the village, was rather steep. Harry sheltered the hand that wasn’t holding the letter in the pocket of his coat.   
  
He smiled when he reached the hamlet, as small as it was, there were always people outside. He went to the small post office in the high street and posted his letter. Then he walked around, visited a small tearoom to drink a cup of tea before returning to the hall. 

He was already on the grounds of Thorgill Hall when he heard a carriage coming from behind. He waited on the side of the lane to let the carriage pass by. Who would come and visit the hall at this hour of the day, Harry mused. Then a noise broke and one of the horses pranced, the carriage swung a little to the left, Harry jumped back, but lost his balance and fell on the frosted ground. His head hit the ground with a thud and then there was only blackness.  
  
“Sir, wake up!” Harry heard a soft voice calling in the distant. He didn’t know the voice, but it sounded pleasant. He opened his eyes with difficulty. And then looked to where the voice had come from. He turned his head slightly, it hurt. He grimaced and then looked up to find a pair of bright blue eyes watching him. A man wearing a black woollen coat, a grey scarf and a black hat was staring at him. His gloved hands touched Harry’s forehead.   
  
“Ah, there you are? Do you think you can stand up?” He asked friendly.   
  
“I… I’ll try.” Harry said as he tried to get up, but he failed. His head hurt too much and he was feeling dizzy. “I’ll need help, sir.”

 A hand was extended to help him up. When he stood on his feet, the man, a stranger, wrapped an arm around his waist and led him to the carriage. 

“I’ll help you get in the carriage and then I’ll bring you to wherever you need to go.” It took a few tries to get Harry into the carriage. When he finally sat, he leaned his head against the backrest and closed his eyes for a minute. 

“Where do you need to go, sir?” The man asked.

“Thorgill Hall, please.” Surprise flicked over the stranger’s face, but he instructed the driver nevertheless.   
  
“Thorgill Hall.” the stranger said, as he sat opposite Harry in the carriag “Interesting.” 

“Why is that, sir?”

“Are you certain, sir.” The stranger looked at him with curious eyes.   
  
“Very certain, sir. I have lived and worked there for the past months.”   
  
“You work for Mr. Tomlinson?” The stranger inquired. Harry nodded.   
  
“Do you know Mr. Tomlinson?”   
  
“No, I have never seen him.” Harry replied. Why was this stranger so interested in his employment?   
  
“Don’t you find that a little strange?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“Do you know where he is?”   
  
“I  do not. He travels a lot, I’ve been told.”   
  
“You don’t look like a servant. You must be the new tutor.” The stranger continued.

“I am, sir.”   
  
The man studied him and frowned. 

“What is your name?” he then asked. Harry wanted to reply that it was none of his business, but that felt a little impolite, after all the man helped him to get to the hall.

“Harry Styles, sir.” He answered. The man repeated Harry’s name and then smiled.

“A peculiar name.” 

Harry frowned. He knew he had an uncommon name, but no one had ever deemed it peculiar.

The rest of the ride to the hall was spent in silence. Harry had closed his eyes, it helped against the dizziness he was feeling. 

The carriage halted in front of the hall. Liam followed Tilly outside.

“Louis! You’re back!” He greeted the stranger warmly. 

“I am.”  Harry’s mouth fell open. The stranger, Louis, helped him get out of the carriage. Liam held his hands for his mouth. 

“Harry, what happened to you?” He exclaimed, assisting Louis to help Harry inside and to his room. 

“You’re Mr. Tomlinson?” Harry uttered with wide eyes when he finally laid down on his bed. Mr. Tomlinson smiled at him. 

“I am.”  
Harry had a slight concussion, which required him to rest, according to doctor’s orders. When he came down, there was silence all around. He went to the library and sat in an armchair near the fireplace. He picked up the travel book and leafed through the pages. It felt odd not having Ernest nor Liam around. He wondered where Liam was.

He watched through the window, snow came falling down in thick flakes, the wind blew them forth with force. The air was grey, the hills invisible. Harry turned his gaze back to the fireplace. Soon he heard voices in the hall. He could hear the high pitched voice of Mr. Tomlinson and the soft bariton of Liam’s voice. 

“Where did you find him? Did you check his background? It’s quite the risk, Liam! You should have consulted me before you hired him to be Ernie’s tutor.” 

“You’re never here, Louis. I had to act quickly, besides, don’t….”

 Harry heard footsteps walking away. It was an odd conversation between the two men. Did Mr. Tomlinson not like him? He only met him yesterday. The door opened and Liam came in. 

“How are you feeling, Harry?” 

“Just a slight headache, thank you for asking.”

  
“Mr. Tomlinson would like you to take tea with him in the drawing room this evening.” Liam said with a smile. 

“Do I need to change?” Harry asked insecurely. 

“No, this will do fine.” Liam pointed to Harry’s black trousers, emerald waistcoat and grey shirt. “Mr. Tomlinson takes his tea at six o’clock, when he is here.” 

Just before six o’clock, Liam preceded him to the drawing room. Two candles were lit on the mantelpiece and three others on tables in the room. They gave the room a cosy atmosphere. Mr. Tomlinson sat on the couch staring into the fire. Harry felt his heart stutter watching him. Mr. Tomlinson was a very attractive man with pronounced cheekbones, bright blue eyes, thin lips and a slight frame. His hair was combed in a quiff. 

“Mr. Styles, sir.” Liam announced him officially.

“Have a seat, Mr. Styles.” Mr. Tomlinson pointed to the armchair across the couch. Harry sat down quietly. Liam retreated and closed the door behind him with a soft click. Mr. Tomlinson observed him for a few minutes. It made Harry feel uncomfortable. Was his attire inappropriate? His hair too long? Harry averted his gaze shyly and instead stared at the table in the corner. A gift box stood on it. Harry wondered what was in it. He hadn’t seen a box like this since his early childhood at Hazelwood Manor, when his cousins received parcels like this for their birthdays.   
  
“Ah, I see you noticed the box.” Mr. Tomlinson said.  “It’s for my brother, unfortunately he’s not here. Tell me, Mr. Styles, do you like the gift box? Do you think I chose well?” Mr. Tomlinson asked Harry with piercing eyes.

“It looks nice, sir. I’m sure Ernest will love it.” 

“Would you like it?” 

“I probably would, they usually contain pleasant things.” 

Mr. Tomlinson lets out a laugh. 

“Usually?” 

“I hardly know, sir; I have little experience receiving gift boxes.”  
  
“Very well.” Mr. Tomlinson said and he took a sip from his tea in silence.

“I understand you have been here since early September?”   
  
“Yes, sir.”   
  
“And you came from—?”   
  
“From Northview School, just north of Leeds, sir.”   
  
“A charitable institution.“ Mr. Tomlinson acknowledged.”How long were you there?”   
  
“Ten years.”   
  
“That is quite some time. Do you have parents?”   
  
“I have none.”   
  
“Do you remember them?”   
  
“No.”   
  
“I thought not. Do you know how they died?” Mr. Tomlinson asked carefully. Harry frowned; it had been a long time since he thought about what he’d been told.   
  
“They died of typhus fever, sir. At least that is what I’ve heard.” 

“Do you have any other relatives?” Mr. Tomlinson resumed. Harry hesitated before answering.

“No; none that I ever saw.”   
  
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” Again Harry shook his head. 

“Who recommended you to come here?”

“Mr. Corden, former headmaster at Northview School did, sir.”

  
“I see.” Mr. Tomlinson looked back to the fire.

  
“Mr. Styles, have you seen much society?” 

“No, sir. Just the pupils and teachers of Northview and now the staff here at Thorgill”  
  
“Have you read much?”   
  
“Whenever possible, sir. Books were few at Northview. I know the bible, sir.” Mr. Tomlinson snorted.

“Drilled in religious form by Mr. Cowell, I suppose.” Harry didn’t answer.   
  
“No comment?” Mr. Tomlinson sat back and looked amused.

“I disliked Mr. Cowell. I have no good memories of the man. He was a harsh and cruel man.   
He starved us when he had the sole superintendence of the provision department, before the committee was appointed.” Harry spoke without emotion. He had learned to contain himself in the many years he’d spent at Northview.

“What age were you when you went to Northview?”   
  
“Ten years old, sir.”   
  
“Which makes you now, twenty?” 

“Yes, sir.” Harry replied. He wished the interrogation stopped. 

“Mr. Payne tells me you speak excellent French and you sketch… costumes?”  
  
“I do.” 

‘Fetch me your portfolio. I’d like to see for myself whether you’re as good as Mr. Payne says you are.”

Harry went to the library and fetched his portfolio and handed it to Mr. Tomlinson. He went through them, studied some and nodded. Then he closed the portfolio, keeping one sketch in his hand and handed the portfolio back. Harry awaited the verdict. 

“Impressive. I wonder if you can execute your designs.” 

“I sew too, Mr. Tomlinson.” 

“Good. I suggest you make this suit and shirt for yourself to wear at social gatherings here at the house. Mr. Payne will provide you with the necessary fabric and other sewing tools you may need.” Mr. Tomlinson rang the bell. “That was all, you may leave now, Mr. Styles.” 

Harry said goodnight and left the room. 

Liam was waiting for him outside in the hall. 

“How did it go?” 

“I am not sure. Good, I hope. He is indeed a peculiar man.” Harry replied. 

“He has a lot on his mind, since his grandfather died. You’ll get used to him.”  
  
“His grandfather?”   
  
“Yes. Old Mr. Tomlinson died a few years ago and Louis, Mr. Tomlinson, inherited the property and everything that came with it.” 

“Oh.” Harry didn’t know what to answer to the information. Inheriting a property like Thorgill couldn’t be that bad, in his opinion, but what did he know about owning an estate. He owned literally nothing. He dropped the subject, wished Liam goodnight and went to his room. His headache became more painful, it was time to rest. 

For several subsequent days Harry saw little of Mr. Tomlinson; he seemed to be a busy man, attended meetings for business. He stayed out till late at night most days. They only exchanged nods and smiles while passing in the hallway.  
  
Ernest had returned from his visit to his father and was delighted to see his older brother. Mr. Tomlinson made sure to spend time with him as much as he could. Ernest loved the gift Mr. Tomlinson brought him; a leather ball that he liked to kick around on the lawn. 

One night Harry was summoned in the drawing room by Mr. Tomlinson, since it had been rare Mr. Tomlinson wanted to engage with him, he quickly made his way to the room, he didn’t want to keep the man waiting.

He sat down in the armchair, just like on that first night. Mr. Tomlinson stared into the fire, not acknowledging Harry. After a few minutes he turned to Harry who had been watching him all the time.  
  
“You examine me, Mr. Styles,” he said: “do you think I am handsome?”   
  
Harry startled and immediately replied with. “No, sir.”

Mr. Tomlinson smiled and chuckled. 

“Well, at least they taught you to be honest at Northview. Then why were you examining me?”

“I was just wondering when you would acknowledge my presence, sir. And I didn’t mean to offend you, sir. I am sure women find you handsome, sir.”

“They do. I am just curious. What does a young man, like yourself, find me? Handsome? Plain? Ugly? You may speak freely, Mr. Styles.”

“Mr. Tomlinson, I hardly think my opinion matters. I am just a tutor. But if you really want my opinion, sir. I think you are a very attractive man.” Harry felt his cheeks burning at the admission. He’d never been asked a question like this before. He wasn’t sure what to answer, but was taught to always speak the truth.   
  
“What makes you find me an attractive man, Mr. Styles? Is it my lack of height? Being a tall man yourself, you might like a smaller man? Or do you find my wealth attractive, Mr. Styles?”

At that last sentence Harry frowned. 

“Wealth is not attractive to me. I know very few wealthy men who are pleasant and kind, sir. I do not know you well, sir. So I can only base my opinion on your appearance. You have bright blue eyes and a kind smile, sir. You are well mannered, well dressed, a gentleman and you’re a caring older brother to Ernest; this makes you an attractive man, in my eyes. But as I said before, I have hardly experience in these matters, sir.” Harry concluded his speech with burning cheeks. 

“You look very uncomfortable, Mr. Styles; am I making you uncomfortable?” 

“A little, sir.” Harry replied honestly. 

Mr. Tomlinson rose from his chair and stood, leaning his arm on the marble mantelpiece. The cut of his suit was impeccable, the waistcoat hugged his waist perfectly. His trousers were just a little tight around his thighs, showing off the shape of them. 

“You’re staring, Mr. Styles.” Mr. Tomlinson reprimanded Harry with a small smile around his lips. Harry’s cheeks refused to go back to their normal pale colour. 

“I am sorry, sir.”

“Did they not teach you at Northview, that staring is considered to be rude?” 

“They did, sir.” Harry bowed his head and stared at the rug instead. 

“You may go now. I shall attend a few classes with Ernest, and see for myself how you’re doing teaching him.” Mr. Tomlinson announced. Harry stood up. 

“Very well, sir.” He nodded and walked to the door. 

“Oh… Mr. Styles?” Harry looked over his shoulder to Mr. Tomlinson. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“I don’t mind you staring at me.” He smirked as he brought the last of his wine to his lips. 

Harry didn’t reply. He locked the door behind him and then rushed to his room with a wild beating heart. When he was in the safety of his own room, he fell down on the bed. What happened? Had Mr. Tomlinson been flirting with him? Had he just been teasing him? 

Mr. Tomlinson, indeed, attended French class with Ernest. His French was much better, than Harry had expected after Ernest’s declaration his brother didn’t speak French. Mr. Tomlinson had probably been teasing his young brother. 

“I’ve traveled to Paris a lot, Mr. Styles. I have lots of friends in France.” Mr. Tomlinson explained with a glint of amusement in his eyes. Harry did not understand why. Why shouldn’t Mr. Tomlinson have lots of friends? He’s a noble man, a man of the world. 

“There’s a look of envy in your eyes, Mr. Styles.” 

“There is not.” Harry replied curtly. He was not envious of Mr. Tomlinson’s travels nor of his amount of friends.  
  
“You don’t know how it feels to be jealous, Mr. Styles?” 

“I do, I sometimes felt jealous of my cousins when I still lived with my aunt, but I was only a child then, sir.” 

“Ah, but you’ve never felt jealousy when it came to love, now have you Mr. Styles? Of course not, how silly of me. You never felt love, did you? That feeling of butterflies flying in your stomach, the warm feeling that overcomes you when that person just looks at you. The need to touch, hold and kiss that one person and then the anger and frustration you feel when that person gets too much attention from someone else…. No, your soul still sleeps, but one day… you will awake to the shock of feelings you have never known before, couldn’t comprehend before, unless you’ll experience them. It will turn your world upside down. For now your life is floating from day to day like a ripple in the ocean. Wait until you experience the storm that will flood your heart and pounds against its walls, you’re afraid it will burst and it might… heartbreak is usually to follow.” Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes stared into the far distant. Harry stayed silent for a while, collecting his thoughts and replied quietly.

  
“I like to think that I will find a love that won’t break my heart, sir.” 

“You’re naive, Mr. Styles, but I can’t blame you for dreaming of such love. Only few find their true love.” 

He looked to the east wing with a painful look on his face. Then looked back to Harry. 

“I hope you’ll find your true love.” He stood up and walked back to the hall, leaving Harry behind on the bench.  
  
Harry withdrew to his chamber for the night, as he laid in bed, he thought of what Mr. Tomlinson told him about feelings of love. He’d never felt those. He only felt slightly infatuated with some boys at Northview, but it had faded after only a few weeks. Feelings of a turbulent kind of love were unknown to him and honestly, they scared him a little.   
  
Mr. Tomlinson seemed to have experienced these feelings, resulting in heartbreak. He also seemed to have lost faith in finding love ever again. Had a woman betrayed him? Had she been betrothed to someone else? He seemed like a nice man, albeit bitter at times. Harry was sure there had to be a woman who would be perfect for Mr. Tomlinson. Who wouldn’t love such a nice, handsome man? He was stunning with those bright blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. Harry sighed and closed his eyes with a smile on his face.   
  
It was still dark when he awoke, hearing a vague murmur, rather peculiar from the floor above. He lay still, trying to listen to the soft noise, but it went quiet. He tried sleeping again, but his heart was still beating anxiously. He heard the clock striking in the hall; one, two, three times. Then he heard someone touching the doorknob. He called. 

“Who is there?” There was no answer, which was odd. Surely when it had been Liam or Mr. Tomlinson or one of the servants they would have answered him. His heart started beating wildly in his chest. Then there was demonic laughter, low and suppressed, it came from the keyhole in the door. Even though fear had frozen him in his bed, his voice called once more. 

“Who is there?” 

Another manic laugh, then a moan and then footsteps retreated to the upstairs. A door opened and closed. Whoever it was had come from upstairs? Was it Bebe? She had a low voice, a little raspy, but no… this sounded different. Harry took a deep breath and grabbed his robe and a candle, lit it and then took a few steps, barefoot until he reached his door. He turned the knob and opened the door hesitantly. His vision was clouded by smoke, he could smell something burning. The smell became stronger as he turned left into the hall towards the other bedchambers. A door was ajar, Mr. Tomlinson’s room, Harry quickened his step and looked into the room. Mr. Tomlinson lay motionless in the middle of the bed, fast asleep, while flames were dancing around the bed; the bed curtains were on fire.

“Wake up, Mr. Tomlinson!!” Harry shouted. He walked into the room, a hand covering his mouth. The smoke was irritating his lungs. He found an opening on the other side of the bed where the fire had not reached yet. He shook Mr. Tomlinson, but the man only murmured and turned. He couldn’t lift the man from the bed. He turned around looking for a jug. It was set on a table near the basin. Harry wasted no time; he filled the jug with water and ran back to the bed and threw the water over the bedsheets and Mr. Tomlinson, he repeated this a couple of times and succeeded into extinguishing the flames that were eating away the velvet curtains.   
  
One final time he emptied the entire content of the jug over Mr. Tomlinson. The man in the bed spluttered and grumbled. 

“What the hell!!” He shouted. 

“You need to get up, sir. There has been a fire; I extinguished it, but you’re now lying in a pool of water.” 

Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes were wide awake now as he looked around him, still a bit dazed. Then his gaze caught Harry in his robe, standing beside his bed. 

“What are you doing here, Mr. Styles?” 

“I heard someone in the hallway, trying to get into my room, sir. When nobody answered, when I asked who it was, I decided to have a look. That’s when I smelled something burning. Your door was open, the smoke was coming from your room.” Harry explained in one breath. “You need to find out who did this, sir.”  
  
“Calm down, Mr. Styles. I’ll put on some dry clothes, while you fetch a candle from the hall for me.” 

Harry ran out of the room and went to fetch a candle, lit it with shaking hands and then walked back as fast as he could. Mr. Tomlinson had put on his night blue dress robe and took the candle from Harry. Harry repeated what he’d heard, the demonic laughter, the murmuring and the footsteps retreating. 

“Who could have done this?” Harry asked with a shaking voice. Now the adrenaline had left his body, he felt exhausted and scared. “Shall we call Liam… Mr. Payne, I mean?”  
  
“No we shall not. He’ll just worry. No let him sleep. I want you to stay here, while I will leave you alone for a few minutes. Don’t move or call anyone, just sit in that armchair until I return. Can you do that?” Harry nodded. 

Mr. Tomlinson went out of the room and took the door leading upstairs to the second floor. He closed it softly behind him as he went upstairs. Then he heard nothing. Harry sat waiting in the armchair. He looked around the room. The bed was a mess. The sheets and carpet were soaking wet. The remains of the velvet curtains hung dismally, dripping with water. Harry felt restless, he wanted to do something, anything that could keep him busy while he had to wait for Mr. Tomlinson’s return. He was about to strip the bed, although it was not his duty, when Mr. Tomlinson walked back into the room. He looked tired, pale and distressed.  
Harry looked up, anxiously waiting for what Mr. Tomlinson might have discovered. Mr Tomlinson spoke quietly when he said. 

“I found out who is responsible, it is as I thought.” He closed his eyes for a moment. Harry was puzzled by the words. 

“Who, sir?”  
  
Mr. Tomlinson did not reply, he held his hands behind his back and looked down. Then he asked in a peculiar tone. 

“What did you see when you opened your chamber door?’’

“Smoke, sir. Only smoke.”  
  
“You said you heard an odd laugh when you were in your room?”   
  
“Yes, sir: I heard the laugh before. It sounded like Bebe Rexha, the woman who sews upstairs. She is a bit of an odd woman.” Harry replied.   
  
“Yes, yes. Bebe Rexha, it was her. I shall reflect on the subject. It’s best to keep quiet about tonight’s incident. Do not say anything about it to anyone, alright? I shall deal with this.” He waved a hand around the room. “You’d better go back to bed. In a few hours the servants will be up.” 

Harry wanted more details, but the stern look in Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes refrained him from asking questions. Harry got up from the chair and said.  
  
“Goodnight, then, sir,” and stepped towards the door. 

“Don’t go, yet.” Mr. Tomlinson said, his voice barely audible. It confused Harry.

“You said I might go, sir.” Harry turned around. Mr. Tomlinson held out his hand, Harry walked slowly up to him and gave him his hand. Then Mr. Tomlinson grabbed his other hand. He held them both, his thumbs rubbing softly over Harry’s hands as he looked at them.   
  
“You saved my life; I am forever in your debt. Thank you, Harry.” His voice trembled as he spoke Harry’s first name for the first time since their meeting.

“Goodnight again, sir.  Anyone would have done what I did.”

Harry wanted to remove his hands from Mr. Tomlinson’s hold, but he kept holding Harry’s hands. Harry looked up at him. There was a strange look in Mr. Tomlinson’s eyes. A look Harry had not seen before in those beautiful blue eyes. Harry kept looking back, searching for what the look meant. Mr. Tomlinson stepped closer, let go of one of Harry’s hands and cupped Harry’s cheek. He softly brushed his cheek with his thumb, still holding Harry’s gaze. 

“You’re a special man, Harry. I’ve known since we met, I felt it.” Then he withdrew both hands and said. “Goodnight.”

Harry was speechless. He managed to stutter a goodnight and left Mr. Tomlinson’s bedchamber.

Harry didn’t see Mr. Tomlinson the next morning, he did hear servants talking amongst themselves in hushed voices. He could hear them talking about the dangers of keeping a lit candle close to the bed and how lucky he had been to awake in time before he would have gotten burned in his bed.   
  
He passed Tilly and Bebe in the hallway. Both greeted him, Tilly a little brighter than Bebe, which wasn’t unusual. Harry decided to ask them, curious what had been told to the servants about the incident.   
  
“Good morning, ladies. What happened?” He asked. Tilly took it upon her to inform him about Mr. Tomlinson’s unfortunate accident. He’d forgotten to blow out the candle and the bed curtains had caught fire. He woke up in time to extinguish the fire with a water jug.

“How strange.” Harry said, in a low voice: then, looking at Bebe fixedly.”Did Mr. Tomlinson not warn anybody?”   
  
Bebe gazed at him, narrowing her eyes, while Tilly excused herself after she looked at the clock.

“You and Mr. Payne sleep on the same floor. Didn’t you hear anything?” Bebe asked, studying Harry’s face.

“I did,” He said, as he dropped his already deep voice. “I’m certain I heard a strange, demonic laugh.”   
  
“How peculiar. You must have been dreaming.” Bebe answered.   
  
“I was not.” Harry insisted. Bebe asked. 

“Did you tell Mr. Tomlinson you heard laughter?”

“I have not seen him yet” Harry replied, speaking truthfully as he, indeed had not seen the man of the house this morning. Bebe narrowed her eyes once again.   
  
“Did you not look into the gallery then?” 

Bebe was clearly trying to draw information from Harry, but he didn’t give her anymore. He needed to be on his guard, if Bebe suspected anything, he might be the next victim.   
  
“I didn’t. My door was locked, I thought it wise not to go out into the hall.” 

“Very wise.” She replied and then moved to the stairs. Harry watched her go. He needed to be careful in future. Who knows what the woman was capable of doing!  
  
The incident kept bothering Harry. Why wasn’t Bebe arrested? Why wasn’t Harry allowed to tell the truth? Why all the secrecy? What hold did Bebe have over Mr. Tomlinson? Surely there must be something, otherwise he would have her charged for attempted murder. 

Was she his mistress? Is that why he didn’t charge her? The idea made Harry shiver. He didn’t want to think of the seamstress and the handsome Mr. Tomlinson in compromising positions. He felt something sting in his heart. Mr. Tomlinson would never have an affair with one of the servants, he was sure of that.

He let Ernest read a simple French story to him, correcting him in pronunciation where needed. He’d improved a lot since Harry started teaching him. He was a lovely boy, a bit mischievous and always unable to sit still for a long time, although he really tried.  
  
“Ah, there you are.” Liam said when he joined Harry for tea in the parlour.

“Have you seen Mr. Tomlinson today, Liam?” Harry asked when he sat down.

“Oh, he left this morning, very early. He’ll be gone for a few weeks.” Liam said, while he sipped from his tea. “He’s staying at the Campbell’s house. There will be parties. Mr. Tomlinson is quite a favourite with the ladies. I’m sure he’ll have a good time. Miss Danielle will be pleased he’s attending the gathering.” The information caught Harry a little off guard. Mr. Tomlinson left… just left after last night’s happenings. And to go off partying, nonetheless. He felt anger welling up in him. And who was this Miss Danielle, Liam was talking about. 

“Who is Miss Danielle?”  
  
“She is Mr. Campbell’s daughter. Mr. Tomlinson and Miss Campbell have known each other for years. She is a beautiful young woman.”

“And what was she like?”   
  
“She is lovely, admired by everyone.”

“She is not yet married?”   
  
“No, the family doesn’t have very large fortune.”

“Surely a wealthy nobleman or gentleman would have taken interest in a beautiful lady?”

“Oh, sure. Still, she isn’t married.” 

That appeared odd to Harry and he wanted to know more, however Liam had moved on to another topic. Harry would have loved to know if Mr. Tomlinson intended to marry Miss Campbell, but he didn’t dare to ask, partly because it would have been impolite and partly because maybe he didn’t want to know. If Mr. Tomlinson married, Harry didn’t think he could stay at the house; he preferred an unmarried Mr. Tomlinson. He didn’t want to know what that meant. So he tried his best to engage in conversation with Liam.

At night, in his bed. He kept replaying last night’s incident in his head. The way Mr. Tomlinson had looked at him, how he held Harry’s hands and rubbed his thumb over his cheek. He’d loved it. The memory of Mr. Tomlinson’s hands on his skin, made him feel warm. His blue eyes were captivating, his voice was pleasant to listen to. His manners like a true gentleman. When he smiled there were crinkles by his eyes. Oh how Harry would love to caress the man’s cheek. He smiled to himself, but then realized what his thoughts were implicating. He covered his face with both hands. Did he fancy Mr. Tomlinson? Surely not, it must have been the shock of all that had been happening the past night. It probably didn’t mean a thing. He should go to sleep; tomorrow he’d see things in a different light. Besides, even if he developed feelings for Mr. Tomlinson, it probably wouldn’t be requited. Nothing would stop a wealthy man like Mr. Tomlinson to win the love of a beautiful young woman like Miss Campbell. Harry needed to stop being foolish; he was the tutor of Mr. Tomlinson’s brother and that is how Mr. Tomlinson regarded him. 

***

It had been two weeks without a sign of Mr. Tomlinson. Liam said he wouldn’t be surprised if Mr. Tomlinson would head to London after his visit at the Campbells and not show his face for months to come. It still was odd he’d left in such a hurry. Harry felt disappointed. He’d become accustomed to Mr. Tomlinson’s presence and secretly cherished their conversations.

Another week went by when Liam smiled as he walked up to Harry in the hallway. In his hand he held a letter.

“It is from Louis,” he said with a little excitement in his voice. “Let’s see what he has to say.” Liam broke the seal and perused the letter, frowning and smiling. Harry wanted to ask him what the letter said, but didn’t want to appear too eager for information about Mr. Tomlinson. 

“He’s coming back and bringing company. We need to get the house ready for guests!” Liam said and hastily turned to the staff room to commence the operation.  
  
The next few days were quite busy. Servants running around, rooms being prepared for the guests, floors were scrubbed, carpets were beaten, furniture was polished. Ernest was too excited to pay attention in class, so Harry kept short days, which left him time to sew his own suit and shirt. He’d been working on it for a few weeks now, the black fabric for the suit was a soft wool, the shirt a striped silk. Harry had never owned such exquisite clothes. The plain black of the suit he would embellish with colours matching the shirt. He wasn’t sure if got to wear it soon, but he’d like to be prepared. Maybe he would get a taste of the festivities. 

Bebe only showed herself on occasion, remaining on the second floor for most of the days.

“I wish I earned only half of her wages.” Harry heard Tilly sigh to cook after Bebe left the kitchen. 

“Would you rather be in her shoes?” Cook asked Tilly. 

“Absolutely not!” Tilly exclaimed in horror. Then cook nudged Tilly’s shoulder, motioning to Harry who came into the kitchen. 

“Doesn’t he know?” Cook whispered in Tilly’s ear, loud enough for Harry to hear. Tilly shook her head and that was the end of the conversation. 

Harry felt purposely excluded; there was a mystery at Thorgill Hall, and he wasn’t to know. That is what it felt like to him. It hurt.

  
***

  
“Miss Campbell!” Liam kissed her gloved hand. She was indeed a beautiful young woman, Harry had to admit, dressed in a plum coloured dress. 

“Mr. Payne, how nice to meet you again.” Then they walked away together. Harry stood with Ernest in a corner, so the boy could get a glimpse of the guests that would be staying in the house. He’d already been admiring the carriages and horses as they stopped in front of the hall, his nose pressed to the windows. It had made Harry smile. The boy adored horses.  
  
“Do you think I can help feeding the horses tomorrow?” Ernest whispered as he tugged on Harry’s hand. 

“Ask your brother tomorrow, when everybody is still in their rooms.” Harry replied encouragingly. “Come on, let’s get our dinner.” 

Harry and Ernest moved as quietly as possible past the guests to the room next to the kitchen. They were having dinner there, so they wouldn’t be in the way of footmen running to and fro with trays full of delicious food. After dinner Harry helped Ernest to bed, read him his favourite story about a black stallion and wished him goodnight, then went to his own room to finish his suit. It was just after midnight and Harry’s eyes were tired of sewing by candlelight. He put on his night dress and went to bed. As he blew out the candle he could hear the guests going to their chambers.  
  
Ernest was promised he could help feeding the horses after the guests had their little excursion to the moors; most of them in carriages, some of them, like Mr. Tomlinson and Miss Campbell on horseback. The pair rode a little apart from the rest of the party. Harry and Liam were watching them leave. 

“Mr. Tomlinson undoubtedly admires Miss Campbell.” Harry said as they stood there, watching.

“And she him,” Liam added. “You can see it in the way she leans her head towards him. You’ll meet her this evening. Louis wants Ernest to meet his guests and you’re to accompany him.”

“I don’t know those people, I’m only a tutor!” Harry exclaimed startled. 

“He insisted you’d come and wear the suit you’ve been working on.” Liam replied. “If you don’t come, he’s going to fetch you personally, I promise you that. He’s well aware you’ve never been in such company. He thinks it will be a good and exciting experience for you.” 

“Will you be there?” Harry almost pleaded. 

“No, I have attended last night’s dinner. I have other plans. Now, you’ll go into the drawing room while it is empty, sit with Ernest in a quiet corner until the guests will come in. You can slip away after half an hour if you like, nobody will notice.” Liam suggested.  
  
“For how long will the guests stay?”   
  
“Two weeks, I gather.”

A large fire was burning when Harry entered the drawing room with Ernest by his side, holding his hand. It made the room pleasantly warm. Ernest took a seat next to Harry in the corner of the room, a bit silent and nervous, just like Harry.

The door opened slowly and in stepped Mr. Tomlinson’s guests, Miss Campbell being the first to enter the room followed by three other ladies and three men. Harry soon learned the ladies were Miss Edwards, Miss Nelson and Miss Thirlwall. The three men, Mr. Malik, Mr. Aoki and Mr. James. Both men and women were dressed immaculately, wearing the finest silks and wools there is. Harry had never been so glad to be wearing a fine suit and matching shirt as he was now. It made him stand out less.

The ladies eyed him curiously. The men simply nodded. Miss Campbell was remarkably self-conscious, Harry noticed. Mr. Tomlinson probably preferred confident ladies, Harry assumed. Of course he had no knowledge of Mr. Tomlinson’s preferences when it came to future wives. 

She only noticed Ernest when he moved on his seat. 

‘Oh, what a cute little boy!” Miss Campbell exclaimed. 

‘He is Mr. Tomlinson’s younger brother.’ Miss Edwards remarked, smiling at Ernest.  
  
Ernest was summoned by Miss Edwards and soon he was chatting with the ladies and Harry sat alone, observing the three men in the room who were talking amongst themselves. Mr. Tomlinson entered the room and joined the gentlemen without acknowledging Harry.   
  
He looked stunning in his navy blue waistcoat, his hair combed back in a quiff. He was doubtlessly the most handsome man Harry had ever encountered and the kindest too. He couldn’t deny his feelings any longer. He knew his adoration for Mr. Tomlinson went far beyond adoration, he simply loved him. His cheeks felt warm at the thought of loving Mr. Tomlinson. It was the only explanation for what he felt. Longing to see him, spending time with him, touching him, talking to him and feeling restless when he was not around. It was a feeling he had never experienced before.   
  
‘And who is that gentleman?’ Miss Campbell inquired, looking at Harry.   
  
‘Mr. Styles, he’s Ernest’s tutor.’ Mr. Tomlinson replied, smiling at Harry, who now became the focus of the entire room, which made Harry feel uncomfortable. 

‘Surely your brother will return home soon.’ Miss Campbell turned to Mr. Tomlinson. ‘I assume this is a temporary solution.’  
  
“Perhaps,” Mr. Tomlinson said indifferently, his gaze still on Harry. No further introductions were made. The men returned to their conversation. Miss Campbell whispered in Miss Edwards ear. 

‘Despite his obvious suit, one can tell he’s common.’ 

Harry couldn’t help but wince at Miss Campbell’s remark. Nobody else appeared to have heard as they continued their conversations without looking up. This was Harry’s chance to slip away, he took Ernest by the hand, who gratefully looked up to him with sleepy eyes. They exited through the side-door. They made it to the staircase without anybody noticing their absence, when suddenly he stood face to face with Mr. Tomlinson. 

‘Why did you not speak to me in the room?’ He asked, seemingly a little disappointed.

 ‘You seemed engaged, sir.’ 

‘Are you alright?’ He sounded concerned. 

‘I am, sir.’ Harry replied, not entirely honest. Miss Campbell’s words stung; they also made Harry realise how silly it was for him to love Mr. Tomlinson, an aristocrat, a man of fortune.  
  
‘I wish you returned to the drawing room, once you’ve put Ernest to bed.’ Mr. Tomlinson said softly. 

‘I am tired, sir. I’d like to retire to my room.’  
  
Mr. Tomlinson looked at him and then said. 

‘You look depressed.’ 

‘I am not depressed, sir.’ Harry stuttered, caught by surprise. 

‘You are, but I won’t pressure you. You can go to your room now. However, I’d like you to join us into the drawing room every night, as long as the guests are here. Goodnight, my l...’ Mr. Tomlinson stopped, bit his lip and turned to go back to his guests. Harry stood there, speechless. Could it be? Ernest tugged on his hand. 

‘Can I go to bed now, Mr. Styles?’ 

‘Of course, let’s go upstairs.”

The days went by, Harry got used to encountering the guests’ staff, lady’s-maids and valets. He didn’t dislike the busy days, but did long for the peace and quiet of before. The continuous rain kept the guests inside, their indoor amusements became more lively by the day.

Mr. Tomlinson was surrounded by the ladies, most of the time. Miss Campbell never abandoned him, she was almost glued to his side. He did try to include Harry in their entertainment, but Harry declined politely. He couldn’t forget Miss Campbell’s disdain for his ‘class’. He preferred to stay out of her way.

Mr. Tomlinson respected his declination. Harry returned to his seat. He’d rather watch.  
  
‘He looks too stupid for any of the games.’ Miss Campbell whispered to her friends.   
  
She walked over to Mr. Tomlinson, took his arm and brushed her hand over his’, while smiling charmingly at him. 

Even though Harry was more or less forced to attend the gatherings, he enjoyed watching their silly games; they were entertaining. However, the small affections Miss Campbell and Mr. Tomlinson displayed, did not sit well with Harry, especially since Mr. Tomlinson did not once glance his way while in the same room. It hurt, being ignored by him. Still, he had to endure those evenings in the drawing room.  
  
Miss Campbell shot him a disapproving glare on occasion, but Harry tried to ignore them. He was well-aware she didn’t want him in the room, even though he kept to himself as much as possible, he hardly interacted with the guests, nor did they seek his company. Miss Campbell was a very showy woman, not genuine, cold-hearted. Harry disliked her as much as she did him. Over the past days it had become obvious, she didn’t approve of Ernest living at the hall. It was clear she didn’t like children, despite her reaction when she saw the boy for the first time. Ernest was cute, without a doubt.

Mr. Tomlinson observed her when she was not hanging off his arm. Harry had not missed the disapproving look in his eyes. If he married this woman, it would be for her family or political reasons not for love. 

Harry would love him. Even though marriage or a relationship was out of the question for many reasons; he would love Mr. Tomlinson. 

He felt helpless. There was nothing he could do that would keep Mr. Tomlinson from marrying Miss Campbell. Harry was a tutor, a man; unsuitable for a man like Mr. Tomlinson, if he’d ever be interested in a man. That was something Harry wasn’t entirely sure of. Sometimes it felt as if he desired Harry too, when he’d rescued him from the fire or when he wished him goodnight the other night at the bottom of the stairs.  
  
No, Mr. Tomlinson would enter a loveless marriage when marrying Miss Campbell, she would not be able to please him nor love him. Harry would. He shook his head, he should stop dreaming about a love that could never be.

He had trouble sleeping that night; the moonlight peeked through a split between the two curtains. He was staring at it when he heard a horrendous cry from somewhere in the Hall. For a minute he felt paralysed, unable to move, he felt as if his heart stood still for a second. 

It was only one cry. Harry wondered if it had woken the guests or staff, but no one seemed to leave their room. Once Harry regained the control over his body he got up, moving slowly towards his bedroom door. 

Then he heard another voice, crying for help. It was the voice of a man. Harry quickly opened the door and peeked into the corridor, he saw Mr. Tomlinson rushing to the stairs up to the next level. Then he heard the voice again, in agony. It came from upstairs. 

Then there was silence.  
  
One by one guests were coming out of the safety of their bedchambers, confused and sleepy, wondering what happened. Was someone hurt? Was there a fire? Did they have to escape the house? In the dark it was difficult to see who were about. He heard a lady cry, a gentleman soothe her. 

Harry went to fetch a candle from his room and lit it. When he came back to the corridor, he saw Mr. Tomlinson coming down the stairs. Immediately the guests attacked him with questions. He held up his hands and yelled. 

‘Quiet, please!’ 

Miss Campbell grabbed Mr. Tomlinson by his arm, demanding to know what that awful cry was. He spoke with contained voice, but with a pale face. 

‘A servant had a nightmare, that was all. You can all return to your chambers now. She is alright now.’ 

Miss Campbell let out a sigh of relief, Mr. Tomlinson softly shook her hand from his arm. The guests went back to their chambers, some of them in relief, some of them shaking their heads, muttering amongst themselves as they did so. 

Harry quietly went back to his room, unnoticed. He sat down in the armchair near the window, the excitement had made him feel restless. He didn’t quite believe Mr. Tomlinson’s explanation. Het sat there for a while. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. 

‘Are you awake?’ The voice of Mr. Tomlinson asked. 

‘Yes, sir.’ He replied as he got up and walked to the door and opened it. Mr. Tomlinson’s face was still visibly pale in the light of the candle he held in his hand.

‘I need you to help me, please. Follow me, but please be quiet.” 

Harry did as asked and followed Mr. Tomlinson up the stairs to the second floor and up another flight of stairs until they stood in front of the door where Harry had heard the manic laugh on his first day; Ms. Rexha’s domain.   
  
Mr. Tomlinson unlocked the door with a key, which he put back in his robe after the door opened, then turned to Harry and said. 

‘I need your help, but I also need you to be quiet; there has been an … accident and there is quite a bit of blood. You won’t faint at the sight of blood?’ 

Harry shook his head. 

‘I don’t think so, sir.’ 

Mr. Tomlinson went into the room and moved on to another door at the other end of the room, Harry went in too. Mr. Tomlinson took a deep breath before he opened that door.  
  
It was dark in the room, but Harry could hear that awful laugh again. Mr. Tomlinson took his hand and motioned for him to come with him. 

On the couch he saw Mr. Malik lying, his face twisted in pain, as he clutched his arm. Mr. Tomlinson held the candle over him, Harry could see the injured arm, blood was soaking through his white shirt. 

‘Please, hold the candle, Harry.“ Mr. Tomlinson said, as he handed it over to Harry. Harry’s heart skipped a beat at hearing him saying his name. 

‘How bad is it?’ Mr. Malik asked. Mr. Tomlinson tended to the wound, dipping a sponge in the basin of water that was standing on a table next to the couch. 

‘Not that bad; it’s merely a scratch.’ Mr. Tomlinson replied. 

‘Harry, please take over and sponge the blood as I did. Zayn, do not speak to him, I order you. If you do, I’ll not answer for the consequences.’

Mr. Tomlinson disappeared behind the door where they had entered, locking it behind him. Harry was left alone with Mr. Malik, who was not allowed to speak to him. Mr. Tomlinson had left, and behind the door in the corner, Bebe’s laughter could be heard. It didn’t sit well with him; he was alone with an injured man who was forbidden to speak to him, Mr. Tomlinson willingly left and only a door separated him from a woman who had attempted to kill Mr. Malik. His hand shook a little before he returned to the task imposed on him. He kept his eyes on the injury, avoiding to look at Mr. Malik’s face.  
  
His mind was working overtime; why did Bebe attack Mr. Malik? Why was he even here on the second floor. Why was Mr. Tomlinson adamant that Mr. Malik did not speak to Harry?

Behind the door in the corner he heard deep groaning and murmuring. He wondered what was happening in that room. Bebe was dangerous, first she started a fire and now she had attempted a murder. Surely Mr. Tomlinson left to alarm the police.

Mr. Malik let out subdued groans; he was clearly in pain. Harry tried to be as careful possible; he did not want to cause the man more distress. He wished Mr. Tomlinson would return. 

Finally, after what had felt like hours, but in reality had been an hour, Mr. Tomlinson appeared again with a man.

‘Mr. Malik needs help, we need to carry him carefully to your carriage, Doctor Parker.’  
  
Doctor Parker, after having sufficiently bandaged Mr. Malik, helped Mr. Tomlinson to carry Mr. Malik downstairs and  to the carriage that was waiting at the back door of the hall.   
  
“I can’t believe she attacked me with that knife.’ Mr. Malik whispered at Mr. Tomlinson. 

“I warned you. You should have waited until I could have come with you.’ Mr. Tomlinson replied with a stern face. ‘Now go. So long, my friend.’ 

‘You’ll keep taking care of her?’ Mr. Malik asked with disbelief. Mr. Tomlinson nodded and turned away from the carriage door. 

The carriage drove off, Mr. Tomlinson went inside without waving at his leaving guest. 

Harry followed him back inside the house, in silence. Once inside Mr. Tomlinson spoke to him. 

‘You were of great help, Harry. I could not have done this without you.’ He looked at Harry with something that resembled admiration as he took Harry’s hand. ‘However, I urge you not to talk about this unfortunate event to the remaining guests. Will you promise me?’ 

‘I will, sir.’ Harry replied with a shaky voice. The events of the night and the close proximity of Mr. Tomlinson had made him anxious. He was unable to keep the trembling from his voice. 

‘Were you afraid when I left you with Mr. Malik?’ Mr. Tomlinson asked softly. 

‘Not with him, however I did fear what was behind that door, sir.’  
  
‘I had locked that door, the key I kept with me. You were safe. I would never have left you alone in there if I hadn’t.’ 

‘Sir,... will Miss Rexha continue living here?’ Harry carefully asked. A strange expression appeared on Mr. Tomlinson’s face. 

‘She will, don’t worry about Miss Rexha.’ 

‘But sir… she tried to kill Mr. Malik! And you!’ Harry exclaimed, keeping his voice down as much as he could. 

‘She is harmless, Harry. You’ll just have to trust me.’ Mr. Tomlinson insisted. ‘Now go back to your chamber and try to get some sleep.’ He brought Harry’s hand to his mouth and placed a soft kiss on top of it. ‘Sleep well, my love.’ 

Harry stared after him when Mr. Tomlinson walked upstairs. Once again Mr. Tomlinson’s behaviour left him speechless, confused and … more in love. 

None of the guests asked questions in the next days. Mr. Tomlinson was more often out than present at the hall. 

‘Harry, you’ve received a letter. It was delivered just now.’ Liam came into the drawing room where Harry was teaching Ernest. 

‘Can I play outside, please?’ The boy immediately asked. 

‘Off you go. You’ve done very well today.’ He smiled at his pupil, who seemed delighted to be dismissed from his lessons. 

‘He really doesn’t like to sit still, does he?’ Liam said as he watched Ernest leave the room. 

‘He still prefers the outdoors.’ Harry admitted. 

Liam gave Harry the letter. Harry frowned when he saw the address of the sender… Hazelwood Manor. He started reading. Liam sat down in an armchair. 

When Harry finished reading, he put the letter down on his knees and took a deep sigh. 

‘I hope it’s not bad news.’ Liam said when he saw Harry frowning. 

‘It’s a letter from Bella, she took care of me and my cousins at Hazelwood Manor.’ Harry replied. 

‘Your cousins? I didn’t think you had family.’ Liam said in surprise. 

‘I do. The letter says my cousin Jules died a couple of months ago, leaving the family with extensive debts, due to his gambling. And last week my aunt died too. Elisabeth and Georgina are both married, apparently. There is no legal heir, so the house will be sold to pay for Jules’ debts. Bella thought I should know and she wishes me the best.” Harry told Liam. He’d never spoken about his family since leaving school. 

‘Do you want to visit?’ Liam asked quietly. Harry shook his head. His memories of Hazelwood Manor are the kind he’d rather forget. He appreciated Bella informed him and he would reply to her letter, of course. 

‘You must tell Louis.’ Liam told him. Harry nodded. 

Mr. Tomlinson was sitting on the terrace, reading a book when Harry approached him. 

‘Excuse me, sir. Can I have a moment of your time?’ 

Mr. Tomlinson looked up and smiled. He pointed to the chair opposite him. Harry took a seat, he took a deep breath. 

‘I’ve just received a letter from Hazelwood Manor, informing me that both my cousin and my aunt have passed away.’ 

‘I did not know you had relatives?’ Mr. Tomlinson exclaimed a little surprised. 

‘I have, well, my cousins Elisabeth and Georgina are my only relatives now; they are married as I’ve just been told by our nurse.’ Harry explained. 

‘You do not seem affected by the news.’ Mr. Tomlinson remarked. 

‘I have not seen them since I was a child, sir. We were … not on good terms.’ Harry hesitated telling the truth. 

‘Do you not wish to visit one last time?’ 

‘I don’t think so, sir.’ Harry shook his head. 

‘Very well. If you’d change your mind, let me know.’ Mr. Tomlinson resumed reading his book. Harry stood up and went inside.  


***

 A few days later the guests left. It was strangely quiet in the house, although Harry welcomed the silence. Now he could finally return to teaching Ernest properly without the distraction of guests walking about. 

Mr. Tomlinson sat in on Ernest’s lessons quite a numerous of times and even joined in, much to Ernest’s delight. 

Together Mr. Tomlinson and Harry walked in the garden one afternoon, enjoying the quiet. 

‘Ernest will be returning to his home. My stepfather wrote to me.’ Mr. Tomlinson said, while they made their way to the house. He held his hands behind his back as he moved. Harry had to process the information before he asked. 

‘You won’t require my duties anymore, sir. Shall I advertise?’ It came as an unexpected surprise. Although, he’d always known, Ernest was only temporarily in his brother’s care. 

‘As a matter of fact I would like you to stay.’ 

Harry stood still, Mr. Tomlinson did as well. 

‘But what do you need me for, sir.’ 

‘I need your company… Harry, I could not bear you leaving us… me.’ Mr. Tomlinson’s cheeks flushed at the admission. Harry was silent, unable to form words. Mr. Tomlinson took Harry’s hand in his and brought it to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s hand. Harry felt warm inside, a feeling unknown to him. Mr. Tomlinson looked up at him, searching Harry’s face for … something. 

‘Please, tell me I’m not mistaken. You do feel as I do, surely? Harry, I have feelings for you, I have not had before for anyone. I couldn’t bear it if you left me, I want to spend my life with you. Please, say you want me too.’ 

For a moment Harry felt like he was dreaming, he could only nod and said with a shaky voice. 

‘I do.’ 

Mr. Tomlinson’s face lit up like a ray of sunshine. 

‘You do? That’s good news… that’s great. Splendid.’ 

Then Harry stepped forward and kissed him on the lips, a bit hesitant. Mr. Tomlinson, obviously taken by surprise by Harry’s response, gasped, but quickly redeemed himself and kissed back, determinedly he placed his hand behind Harry’s neck to pull him closer. They pulled back several times only to stare at each other, before going in for more kisses. 

Sudden drops of rain, broke them apart. Mr. Tomlinson laughed and took Harry’s hand and pulled him to the door, before they went inside they kissed some more. 

‘Go to your room and get changed; you’re wet. I don’t want you to get ill.’ Mr. Tomlinson whispered. Harry went in first, he was met with Liam’s pale and stunned face. He rushed past him and said. 

‘I’ll explain later.’ Then he ran up the stairs. 

That night storm and thunder kept him from sleeping. He heard a knock on the door. 

‘Are you awake, Harry?’  He heard the voice of Mr. Tomlinson asking. He quickly got up and opened the door. 

‘I couldn’t sleep.’ Mr. Tomlinson said a bit shyly. Harry wrapped his arms around his neck and replied. 

‘Neither could I, sir.’ 

Mr. Tomlinson chuckled. 

‘Do you think you could drop the ‘sir’ and call me Louis?’ 

Harry smiled. 

‘I think so… Louis.’ He said the name and smiled. Louis leaned his head against Harry’s. 

‘I like that.’ 

Harry took him by the hand and led him to the bed. He sat down and looked up at Louis, still holding his hand.

 ‘Please, kiss me.’ He asked simply. It was all the encouragement Louis needed. Harry closed his eyes, let himself enjoy being kissed so thoroughly before returning them with equal enthusiasm. 

He felt Louis’ hand slipping under his nightgown, exploring the naked skin underneath; the touch of a warm hand on parts of his body that had never been touched this way made Harry’s skin tingle with pleasure, eliciting little moans from his throat that he didn’t know he could produce. Feeling brave he sneaked his hand underneath Louis’ nightgown and copied Louis’ actions, a bit insecure at first, but encouraged by the sounds and words coming from his lover’s mouth and a confirmation from Louis that he shouldn’t stop, please, he felt bold and reached for the soft swell of Louis’ bum and squeezed softly. Louis instantly groaned and confidently engulfed Harry’s member. Harry’s eyes went open, widely at the sensation as Louis moved his hand slowly up and down. All he could utter were soft ‘oh’s’ unable to form any other words nor sounds. Breathing became harder and harder. It didn’t take long before he felt a warm wave pooling in his lower stomach, it whirled around, turned into a twister before it climaxed, spurting strings of white onto his stomach, as he let out a deep groan that turned slowly into a pant. He felt a soft kiss on his forehead. 

‘You’re beautiful.’ Louis’ voice whispered. Harry smiled with his eyes closed. It wasn’t until a while later when he’d recovered from his first sexual experience that he realised and with great embarrassment he stuttered. 

‘Oh… should I …. I mean …. You.’ He asked Louis who was lying beside him, still staring fondly at Harry. Louis smiled and shook his head a little. 

‘It’s fine; I’m fine. We have time. Try to get some sleep.’ Louis said. Harry turned on his side and felt an arm around his waist. He sighed and fell asleep, happily. In the distant the thunder was still audible. 

The next day he woke up alone, but he didn’t mind. This being together with Louis was all new to him. Besides, they had to be careful with the staff milling about the house. He heard Mr. Tomlinson, Louis, leave through the front door, out on business as usual. Harry smiled and repeated the name a few times; it felt a little odd to call him Louis instead of Mr. Tomlinson, of course as long as he still was Ernest’s tutor and when he was around staff, he’d still refer to Louis as Mr. Tomlinson. 

Harry dressed himself and hurried downstairs to the parlour to find Liam sitting at the breakfast table, clearly waiting for Harry to appear. He smiled with effort when Harry entered the room and sat down at the table.

‘I hardly know what to say to you, Harry.’ Liam began. ‘Is it true that Louis asked you stay, be his companion? That is what he just told me.” 

‘He asked and I accepted.’ Harry replied.

Liam rubbed his cheeks with both his hands, shook his head.

‘Does he love you?’ Liam asked. 

Harry felt a little hurt by this questioning, tears rose to his eyes. 

‘I don’t want to grieve you, but you are so kind, a little naive. Are you sure he wants you because he loves you or just for the convenience of having a lover at his disposal.’ 

Harry was shocked by Liam’s words.

‘Why? Why do you think so little of him? Of me? Is it so hard to believe that Louis loves me?’ Harry asked, tears still in his eyes, threatening to fall.  
  
“I am sorry, Harry, but there is so much you do not know. If you don’t love him, then don’t stay. I’m just telling you this for your own sake. I’d hate to see you get hurt. You deserve all the love and happiness in the world. I doubt Louis will be able to give you that.”   
  
“Why Liam? He’s not a monster!” Harry felt irritated, to say the least.

“ _He_ is not. Like I said, there is so much you do not know.”   
  
Their conversation was ended by Ernest running into the parlour. 

***

 

Ernest left with his father, the entire staff stood outside waving him goodbye. 

‘I shall miss that little boy.’ Tilly said wistfully. Harry agreed with her. 

He and Louis had been courting for a month, in secrecy, of course. Walks in the garden, long talks in the drawing room, nightly pleasures in Harry’s bed. Only Liam knew and he deeply disapproved of their relationship, which had put a strain on his friendship with Liam. 

Aside from that, Harry had never felt so happy before in his life. It was written all over his face and staff members had noticed Harry’s cheerfulness. 

‘Mr. Styles is in great spirits these days, I wonder what has caused his cheerfulness.’ He had heard Tilly whisper to cook. 

They would leave Thorgill Hall and live in the town house in London, Louis had told him. Although Harry wondered why they had to leave Thorgill Hall. He’d enjoyed living there despite the darker events that had taken place, such as the fire in Louis’ bedroom and the attack on Mr. Malik. He still didn’t understand why Louis had never dismissed Bebe Rexha or reported her to the police. She was still up there on the second floor, only now and then Harry would pass her in the hallway when she was returning from the kitchen with food on a tray to take upstairs with her. She only nodded at him in acknowledgement, they never spoke anymore. 

Harry had been packing his things, he still didn’t own much, except for a few new suits he had made at night and on his days off during his employment at Thorgill Hall. They were suitable for wear in London, Louis had told him. He also told him he’d provide the finest fabrics for Harry to sew when they are living in London, when Harry had refused to have costumes fitted for him at a tailor. He loved creating suits, it wasn’t something he would give up for anyone, not even Louis Tomlinson, he’d proclaimed, much to Louis’ amusement.

They would leave early tomorrow morning by carriage. Part of Harry was excited, part of him felt uneasy; a slight fear he’d only remembered having in his childhood years at Hazelwood Manor, in that dreadful cellar. The fear of being forgotten, being left alone, abandoned. It had been a long time since he felt like that. And of course there were the terrible nightmares, he still experienced from time to time. Always a woman with a candle, waving her arms like a bird. A crow on his grave. And flames, always flames. 

He shook his head, no need for these old memories to haunt him when his life was about to change in the best way possible. He found the love of his life and was about to start their life together in the most exciting town in the country. He should feel nothing but joy and happiness today. 

After dinner Harry said goodbye to Liam, even though he was still reluctant, he hugged Harry and told him to look after himself and to write to him. The staff had been told Harry had found a new job in London and Mr. Tomlinson would take him as he had business to see to in England’s capital. 

He was asleep for what felt like only a while, when he was woken by a soft gleam near his desk and rustling in the room. Harry rubbed his eyes and opened them. A figure stood by the closet door, where Harry’s suit hung, the one he would wear travelling to London. It was the figure of a woman, his first thought was that it was Tilly, who’d come into his room.

 ‘Tilly, what are you doing?’ She didn’t answer, instead she held her hand high, in the soft gleam of the candle Harry could see she was holding a knife, before he could say anything she lowered her arm and cut into the fabric of the suit, then repeated the action over and over again. Harry sat up, frozen and numb, while the woman tore his self-made garment to shreds. She laughed maniacally. The laugh shook Harry from his stupor. The woman wasn’t Tilly. The woman had long dark hair; even though the laugh was familiar, the figure wasn’t. This wasn’t Bebe Rexha, it was an unknown female, who’d come into his room to destroy his suit. 

The woman turned, her hair was entangled, her face pale, almost a grey colour, her lips dark and thin, the look in her eyes wild and manic. She then surged forwards, still holding the knife high and about to attack Harry. Harry jumped off the bed and screamed. He couldn’t escape, unless he jumped out of the window. The woman stood on the other side of the bed, attacking Harry’s pillow. Harry kept screaming for help. 

The bedroom door flew open and both Louis and Liam ran in, taking in the scene and both men immediately jumped on the woman, who was still holding the knife, but unable to do more damage with the two men holding her down on the bed. She only kept laughing that awful laugh. The sound of a woman insane. Louis fumbled the knife out of her hands, while Liam held her down. Another person ran into the room; Bebe Rexha. 

‘I’m so sorry, Mr. Tomlinson. She must have taken the key from my pocket while I was asleep.’ 

‘Help us to get her upstairs and make sure she’ll get another dose of her medication.’ Louis bit to her. He was clearly livid.

‘Harry, are you alright?’ Louis looked up, still holding the woman’s hands down. Harry had his ears covered while he leaned against the window sill, he couldn’t bear to hear the woman’s laughter anymore. He was shaking, unable to answer Louis. 

‘Miss Rexha, fetch Tilly and tell her to get Harry a glass of brandy to calm his nerves.’ Bebe immediately left the room. 

‘Harry, I’ll explain everything to you later. We need to get Eleanor back upstairs to her room first.’ Louis’ eyes were pleading, but Harry didn’t respond, he was still in shock. 

Bebe came back with Tilly, who held a glass of brandy in her hands. 

‘Let’s go.’ Louis ordered. He and Liam dragged the woman, Eleanor apparently, with them. She was still fighting and laughing. The men struggled holding her. Bebe led the way. The knife was on Harry’s bed. Tilly removed the knife and helped Harry back on the bed and let him take sips of the brandy. It burnt his insides, but after a couple of sips, he felt a little better. Tilly made sure he drank all of it, while softly talking to him, he didn’t hear what she said, but it soothed him. His mind was racing, his body was tired, but he wouldn’t be able to sleep without knowing who this Eleanor was. Everyone else seemed to know her. 

Louis came back into his room and asked Tilly. 

‘How is he?’ Before Tilly could answer, Harry asked. 

‘Who was she?’ 

Louis thanked Tilly and then she left the room, taking the knife with her and closing the door softly behind her. Louis sat down in the chair and rubbed his face. 

‘My wife, Eleanor.’ He said, resigned and defeated.

 ‘Y...your wife?!!!’ Harry exclaimed in horror. 

‘My wife.’ Louis confirmed.

‘I married Eleanor, five years ago; it was my grandfather’s wish. Finally the Calder family and Tomlinson family would be united. Our future son would be the heir to several estates; would become one of the richest men in the country. Unfortunately the family had a carriage accident, it collided with another carriage while returning from a night out at the theatre. Eleanor’s parents and the driver were dead instantly, Eleanor sustained severe brain damage, but was alive. After months of treatment it became clear she would never be her old self again. I visited a mental home, but was appalled by what I saw, so I arranged for Eleanor to live here at Thorgill Hall and hired staff to look after her properly. Miss Rexha is her nurse. Liam offered to live here permanently, so I could still conduct our businesses. He would make sure everything would run smoothly on the estate during my absence. Mr. Malik, Liam, Eleanor and I, we all grew up together and were the best of friends.’ 

Harry tried to process the information; it was a lot to take in.

‘I will let you sleep now. We have a long trip ahead of us tomorrow.’ Louis stood up. ‘Goodnight my love. Please, lock the door.’ 

Harry lay down. His body was tired, his mind still racing. His wife, Louis had a wife. The tears that were in his eyes all this time were finally trailing down his cheeks. How could he have been so foolish? Of course Louis didn’t love him, Liam had been right all along. There was so much he hadn’t known when he’d thrown himself in the arms of Mr. Tomlinson. A young man eager enough to be his lover for the rest of his life. He had been naive, foolish. What would Louis have done? Travel up and down from Thorgill Hall to London; from his wife to his lover? Moving to London had been the solution, of course. Harry would not have known about Eleanor and would not find out because they’d be living far from Thorgill Hall.


	5. York Theatre Royal

When the sun rose Harry knew what he had to do; he sneaked downstairs, carefully, carrying his suitcase and wearing an old suit. The ruined suit he’d left behind in his bedroom. He opened the front door, looked over his shoulder one more time, took a deep breath and closed the door behind him and started walking to the village. If he kept a steady pace he’d be in time to catch the coach that would take him away from Thorgill Hall and its inhabitants.

 

He was in time to take the coach to Pickering, while seated near the window, he kept thinking about his destination. He hadn’t given it any thought; he only knew he had to leave Thorgill Hall right away. He closed his eyes for a while. He didn’t want to go back to the school, nor to Hazelwood Manor, which would probably have been sold by now and would now have a new proprietor. Then suddenly he sat straight up, startling an old man in the opposite seat. The man grumbled and went back to sleep. He could visit Ed! He would take a coach to York and inquire at the station how much the fare from York to Leeds would be. Happy with his plan, he let himself drift off. In Pickering he stayed the night at an inn and took another coach the next morning that would bring him to York. Another day of travelling.

 

He was tired and hungry when the coach held in front of York Station and Harry got off, he took his suitcase with him as he opened the door to the entrance of the railway station. There was a young man standing behind a counter. Confidently Harry walked up to him.

 

‘Good morning, sir. How can I help you?’ The young man asked.

 

‘How much is a single fare to Leeds, please?’ Harry asked. The young man told him the fare, Harry immediately felt all hope drain away from him. It was too much. He didn’t have that amount of money left; it would leave him penniless. 

 

‘Thank you, sir.’ He thanked the young man and walked outside. What now? He decided to walk into the town. He’d never seen a town this size before. He might as well walk around until he had a plan. The York Minster towered over the buildings on the other side of the river; he crossed the bridge and walked towards the Minster. On his way he passed the York Theatre Royal. There was a performance tonight, he couldn’t afford a ticket. His childhood dream; seeing a performance would have to remain a dream a little longer. The door was open. He couldn’t resist and curiously he peeked inside. He felt exhaustion coming over him.

 

A man was standing inside. He saw Harry and smiled.

 

‘How can I help you, sir.’  

 

‘If I only could sit down for a minute, sir. I have travelled from far.’ 

 

‘Of course, sir.’ He pointed to a chair in the corner. 

 

‘Thank you so much. I have never seen a theatre before; it’s beautiful.’ Harry said as he rested his feet. 

 

‘It is, sir.’ The man said.

 

‘It has been my childhood dream to visit a theatre performance one day.’ Harry told the older man.

 

‘I’m sure there are still tickets for tonight’s performance.’ 

 

‘I’m without work at the moment, I need to save what I have left, but maybe soon.’ Harry replied hopefully.

 

‘What is your skill, sir?’ The man asked him.

 

‘Oh! I’ve been a tutor, sir.’ Harry replied.

 

‘Ah, I see. I wouldn’t know anyone who’d need a tutor.’ The man’s voice sounded a little disappointed, as if he was apologizing to Harry.

 

‘Oh, that’s alright. I can sew too.’ 

 

‘Oh! We need another costume designer. Have you ever designed?’ The man sounded elated.

 

‘I have. As a matter of fact, my suitcase is filled with suits I designed myself.’ 

 

‘Well, Mr..?’

 

‘Styles, my name is Harry Styles.’ He held out his hand and stood up.

 

‘If you’re interested, I could introduce you to Mr. Grimshaw. He’s the production manager.’ 

 

‘That would be great, thank you, Mr…?’ 

 

‘Seymour, sir. Just call me Seymour, like everybody else does.’   
  
Harry followed Seymour through dark corridors until they reached an office. Seymour knocked on the door. 

 

‘Come in!’ A voice called from the other side. ‘Ah Seymour, my dear man. Well, well, who did you bring me?’

 

‘This is Mr. Styles, sir. He might be your answer to the costume problem.’ Seymour smiled encouragingly at Harry. Harry smiled back, but felt very faint. The cold outside, the heat in the office, the lack of food in his stomach, the long journey following a horrendous night were becoming too much. He felt his knees go weak and his surroundings fade.

 

***

 

‘Mr. Styles, wake up.’ He heard a voice calling him. A hand lifted his head a little and gave him something to drink. Brandy, again. He blinked a few times. Where was he? He looked at the person holding his hand and giving him brandy. A man, in his early thirties, dark hair styled into a quiff, there was a twinkle in his eyes.

 

‘Well, hello. Welcome back. I can’t say I have had this effect on men before, but I must admit it’s rather flattering.’ He grinned. Despite still feeling faint, Harry laughed.

 

‘Ah, a man who appreciates a bit of humour, I like that. Now, how are you feeling?’ 

 

‘Faint, but better.’ Harry said.

 

‘I asked Seymour to bring lunch, I suspect you haven’t had much to eat today, am I right?’ the man asked Harry.

 

‘I missed breakfast, lunch sounds lovely, although I can’t really afford it.’ Harry said.

 

Seymour came in with a tray, containing soup and sandwiches. The man helped Harry up, pulled out a chair and sat him down.

 

‘First you eat, then we’ll talk. I am Nick Grimshaw, by the way. I run this theatre.’ He held out his hand for Harry to shake.

 

‘Harry Styles, sir. And thank you for this.’ Harry replied gratefully. ‘You too, Seymour.’ 

 

Both man smiled back. Harry devoured his lunch, chicken soup really helped him to feel better. After he’d eaten he used the offered napkin to clean his mouth.

 

‘Now, Harry. May I call you Harry?’ Mr. Grimshaw asked. Harry nodded.

 

‘You can call me Nick, we use our first names amongst ourselves.’ He went on explaining.

 

‘Where are you from?’

 

‘North Yorkshire, sir.’

 

‘Nick.’ 

 

‘Sorry, … Nick.’ 

 

‘Do you have any relatives or friends in York?’ 

 

‘No, I’m alone.’ It pained him to say it out loud. Until two days ago, he’d thought himself sharing the rest of his life with Louis. 

 

‘Employment?’

 

‘I am a tutor, but my pupil returned to his father, so I am unemployed at the moment.’

 

‘Seymour told me you have experience in designing suits?’ 

 

‘I have. In my suitcase you’ll find my suits; I designed and sewed them myself.’ Harry said a little proud. Nick chuckled.

 

‘Would you mind showing them to me?’ 

 

‘No, not at all.’ 

 

Harry took out his suits, they were a little creased, but still presentable. Nick ran his hands over the fabric and whistled. He inspected the stitching and looked at the designs, while Harry waited anxiously for the man’s verdict. Nick turned to him and smiled widely.

 

‘These are amazing! You are really talented. And the fabric; sublime! It must have been well-paid job if you could afford these fabrics.’

 

‘Oh! My employer provided the fabrics.’ Harry replied quickly. Nick raised his eyebrows at that.

 

‘He must have been quite taken with you, if he provided these fabrics. They are exquisite.’ Harry blushed deeply. Nick gave him a wink.

 

‘If these are your designs and your stitching, I’d be mad to send you away. You’re hired!’ Nick said. Harry felt a lot lighter, now a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He found a job, now he still needed somewhere to stay.

 

Seymour wrote down the address of a boarding house.

 

‘They’ll only allow gentlemen.’ He handed Harry the address and gave him directions.

 

The boarding house was clean. The room was small, but had a bed, a table and chair. Bathrooms were at the end of the corridor. The rent was reasonable. He’d just make it with the wages the theatre would pay.

 

He was introduced to Mrs. Baker, she designed and sewed the dresses for the plays. She was an older lady with grey hair and sparkling blue eyes and never short of a tale to tell, Harry learned after she and Harry had been working together for a few days. She put Harry in charge of the men’s costumes, only gave him the necessary requirements for each piece, but giving him free reign on the details. Nick approved of the designs and Harry was grateful for the chance to show off his abilities. It kept his hands and mind occupied; it didn’t leave much time for thinking about Thorgill Hall during the day. 

 

The nights were long, he usually went to sleep fine, exhausted from his day job, but he would sleep fitfully and wake up in the middle of the night. Strangely, he never dreamt about Louis. He did have returning dreams about Thorgill Hall; it was always on fire. The woman with the candle always appeared in it too, strangely the crow on his grave didn’t appear anymore. Thorgill Hall probably would have been burnt down that one night if Harry hadn’t woken up in time. 

 

But he’s also plagued by dreams about his early school days, when typhus had taken so many of the boys and when he’d lost Niall, his only friend at the time. The worst dreams are the ones where he’s on the cellar stairs at Hazelwood Manor, locked up by his aunt, haunted by shadows he could see through the tiny window, mice and rats running across the floor; he could only hear them, never see them. It was too dark. There was no light. He doesn’t understand why his mind keeps reliving the worst memories. They wore him out. 

 

‘So you never said who your former employer was?’ Nick asked him one day when he was finishing a suit for one of the stage actors. Harry lowered the shirt he was working on.

 

‘It is my secret. I’d rather not say. It wasn’t safe nor wise to stay any longer and since my pupil had returned to his father, I had no obligations. Please, accept this explanation.’ Harry said with an even voice, refusing to let his emotions show. 

 

Nick sighed, a little dramatically.

 

‘I accept, although I suspect heartbreak is the main reason for your departure from your former employer. I won’t pry.’ He gave Harry a smile and then left the sewing room.

 

The more Harry became acquainted with the cast and the crew, the better he liked them. He conversed with Seymour, of whom he became quite fond. He read books, traded them with an actor. He enjoyed being part of the group. He loved exploring the town of York; never before had he spent time in a town, being raised far from one, mostly within the walls of the school. 

 

He did miss the purple moors, the bridle-paths covered with pebbles, fern-banks, the wild pasture fields, the wilderness of heath and Louis…. The more time passed, the more he thought about the man that had captured his heart and refused to leave. While sewing with Mrs. Baker, he lately wondered more often what Louis was doing and if he ever thought of Harry. By now his flight from Thorgill Hall had been almost a year. Did Louis think as often of him as Harry did about him. It was rather unlikely; Louis had an estate to keep, a mad wife to keep under control, social obligations to fulfill. A man like Louis would not have time to think about an insignificant tutor, who fled the house without an explanation, who ran from him proving Harry’s love for him had not been very deep.

 

Harry rubbed a hand over his eyes. No, Louis was married; it was not fair to Eleanor, although she probably didn’t even know she ever married Louis Tomlinson, never could be a true wife to him. Besides, it had been a marriage of convenience, Louis had told him it had been his grandfather’s wish. But what if Eleanor had truly loved Louis? Then Harry had been a threat to their marriage, or to whatever their liaison could still be called. Is that why she had attempted to attack him? But she did attack Mr. Malik too; did Louis have an affair with him too?

 

He felt faint. There wasn’t enough air in the room to breathe in. He took deep breaths.

 

‘Harry dear, are you alright?’ Mrs. Baker’s voice came from beside him, sounding very concerned.

 

‘I think I’m going to take a walk outside. I need some fresh air.’ Harry said with difficulty. Mrs. Baker helped him out of the room and watched him as he walked towards the Minster.

 

He went inside, sat on the nearest bench and took deep breaths. He stared ahead of him, trying to shut off his mind from the neverending stream of ‘Louis’ in his head. The sound of Louis’ voice, his love for Ernest, the soft touch of his hands, his lips, the beautiful blue eyes, the crinkles in the corner of those blue eyes when he smiled. Silent tears fell from Harry’s eyes. His brain was unable to detach itself from the image of Louis Tomlinson. If only he could just see him one more time, feel his lips on his’, his hands on his skin, caressing him one more time. He sat up straight, once more rubbed a hand over his eyes. He had made a decision.

 

That night, after the cast performed the play, Harry sat in Nick’s office.

 

‘So you’re leaving us?’ Nick asked, his voice void of the usual playfulness and teasing.

 

‘I have no choice, as long as I don’t have closure, I won’t ever be able to feel happy again. I need to go back. I might get thrown out, but at least I’ll have closure.’ Harry explained.

 

‘In that last case; we’ll welcome you with open arms. You’re part of the group, Harry. We’ll all going to miss you, but I understand. Go get your man!’ Nick smirked. Harry’s face turned red immediately.

 

‘How?!” He asked.

 

‘No employer provides his staff with such expensive fabrics for their own use. The man must have been deeply in love with you to do so. I presume you did reciprocate those feelings, but something happened and you ran. Am I right?’ Nick leaned his arms on the table as he talked to Harry.

‘Yes.’ Harry replied quietly.

 

‘He’d be a fool not to keep you once you return.’ Nick sighed. ‘I’d declare him insane.’ 

 

Harry’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red and he looked up at Nick, a little astonished.

 

‘Oh yes, my dear Harry. If I hadn’t known your heart was already taken, I would have put all my charm on you. Unfortunately for me, you never once gave me a glimpse of hope. But I’m glad to have you as a friend. Now, pack your things, tell the others goodbye and return to your lover.’ 

 

Nick gave him a hug before Harry left and made him promise if things turned out badly, he’d return to them, he’d always have a place here. 

 

Saying goodbye to his friends had proven to be very difficult. Mrs. Baker weeped and so did the actors. Seymour provided him with a bag of food.

 

‘We can’t have you starving on your way to happiness.’ He’d said and smiled. Harry gave the man a hug and thanked him for all he had done for Harry and gratefully accepted the bag from him. With one last wave he said goodbye to them and closed the door of the theatre behind him.

 

***

He stood by the sign-post, waiting for the arrival of the coach that would take him to Thorgill Hall. He took in his surroundings, the silence of the deserted hills, the solitary roads, it reminded him of a day almost a year ago, when he had taken the same route, fleeing from Thorgill Hall, heartbroken, confused, hurt, penniless and nowhere to go. He heard the coach in the distant. He picked up his suitcase and the bag Seymour gave him and entered the coach that would bring him back to Louis. Harry smiled and whispered to himself.

 

‘I’m coming home, Louis.’

 

After hours of travelling the coach stopped to water the horses at an old inn, situated in the midst of large purple fields of heath, a white spot in a sea of reds and purples. Familiar surroundings.   
  
“How far is Thorgill Hall from here?” Harry asked the driver.   
  
“Only two more miles, sir. We won’t be long.’   
  
“I’d like to walk the remaining distance.’ Harry said. The driver nodded. Harry paid his fare and greeted the man.

  
He started walking, slowly at first, enjoying the familiar surroundings, breathing in the late summer air, that smelled sweet. His pace became quicker as he neared the hill, that was blocking the view from the hall. He panted; he wasn’t used to walking the hills anymore. One more bend and he would be standing in front of the hall. Would Louis be walking through the garden? Would he spot Harry and welcome him in his arms with a shout of joy? Harry took a deep breath, the exhaustion of travelling and the anxiousness of meeting Louis did funny things to his mind. Harry took the few steps that separated him from a view of Thorgill Hall and ... nearly collapsed.

 

Instead of the view of a stately house in all its glory, Harry saw a blackened ruin. Only one wall had remained intact. The other walls all had crashed in. The lawn, once well-kept was overgrown with grass and weeds, the grounds and garden gone to waste; overgrown with ivy and weeds.

 

Harry sat down in front of the gate; his mouth open wide. He felt a shudder going through him. The black ruin, he’d been dreaming of since childhood, had now appeared in front of him. A crow sat on a stone; the family graveyard, also neglected. 

 

He screamed.

 

‘No! No! This can’t be happening.’ And then cried, an endless stream of tears kept flowing from his eyes, until he had no more. He laid down on the ground, trying to catch his breath.    
  
A fire had destroyed the hall, but how?  An accident? Had people got hurt? Or worse? Harry had to take a deep breath when reality hit him once more. Had Louis been present? Had he survived? A dreadful question that would be unanswered until he’d found someone who could tell him what had happened at Thorgill Hall.

  
When he finally gathered himself and stood up from the ground, it occurred to him that it must have been a while since the fire had destroyed the hall. He wandered around, piles of rubbish were lying around, grass and weed had taken residence between stones and fallen rafters.Where was everyone? What had happened to Liam, Tilly, Bebe and Eleanor? The thought of Liam, brought new tears to his eyes. He needed answers. He’d only find them in the village. 

 

The walk to the village seemed long, or so it appeared to him. He’d kept a steady pace and had gone to the inn. He’d ordered lunch.

 

The host brought his lunch to the table.    
  
“You know Thorgill Hall, of course?” He asked, a little tremble in his voice.   
  
“Yes sir, I lived there once.”   
  
“Did you?”  It must have been before Harry was employed at the hall, because he did not know the man.   
  
“I was the late Mr. Tomlinson’s butler,” the host added.   
  
The reply hit Harry with full force. Here was the answer he’d dreaded to hear on his way to the village. He took a few deep breaths.

  
“He… he is dead?’ Harry almost whispered.

  
“I mean Mr. Louis’ grandfather,” the host explained. Harry’s heart resumed its beating, for a moment Harry had been sure it had stopped. 

  
“It’s such a sad story. Last autumn it burnt down; the fire broke out at the dead of night. When the engines came in from the village, the hall was a mass of flame. A dreadful sight.”   
  
“How did it happen?” Harry asked. The nights at Thorgill Hall had been hazardous. Fires and attacks.

 

The host lowered his voice and almost whispered to Harry.

 

‘There was a lady hidden in the house, an insane woman.She’d been kept in a closed wing of the house, that’s what they say. It appeared she was his wife. The late Mr. Calder’s daughter was assumed to be dead, after that terrible coach crash with her parents. She was the only survivor, but unfortunately her brain had been affected by the accident and Mr. Tomlinson had decided to take care of her himself after visiting some of the institutions in the country. That’s what’s been told, sir. A terrible, terrible story.’ The host shook his head.   
  
‘And that was not all, they say Mr. Louis had fallen in love with somebody who worked for him. They never quite said who it was, but ever since this woman, I presume, fled Thorgill Hall, Mr. Louis had been heartbroken and withdrawn. That’s what Tilly said.”

 

Harry took another deep breath; hearing about how Louis had been after Harry’s sudden departure, hurt.

 

‘Is it known how the hall burnt down?’   
  
“It was Mrs. Tomlinson, she escaped from her convines, when the nurse who looked after her had been vast asleep. She’d taken the keys from the nurse and let herself out of her chamber and went roaming about the house. She set fire first to the curtains in the room next to hers and then she went downstairs to the first floor to the room that had been the tutor’s, he’d left after Mr. Louis younger brother had returned to his father, Mr. Louis’ stepfather.  They say the tutor had been his friend and confident and he’d missed him very much. He’d changed a lot in a few months time. He grew silent, withdrawn and let most of his staff go. He hardly ever socialized with the gentry anymore. He’d become a hermit at the Hall.”   
  
Harry was silent for a while. Louis had missed him. He’d been lonely after Harry had left.   
  
“Was Mr. Louis at the Hall when the fire broke out?’

  
“He was. He alerted the servants and helped them down and outside. He went back into the Hall to save his wife in her chamber, but she’d been standing on the roof, waving her arms like a bird. Mr. Louis had made his way to the roof too and tried to coax his wife into coming down with him, but she only looked at him and laughed, a manic laugh, I heard it myself, and then she jumped, her arms waving in the air. She landed on the pavement; it was a horrible sight. She was dead.”   
  
Harry shuddered, the host continued his story.

 

‘No one else died in that fire, although Mr. Louis sustained quite severe injuries.’

 

‘Where is he? Is he alright?’

 

‘After his wife had flung herself from the roof, there was a great crash; all fell. They had to take him out from under the ruins, he was alive, but his left hand and leg were burnt badly and his sight had been affected. He has difficulty seeing and walking. Poor Mr. Louis.’ The host ended his story.

 

Harry had to take deep breaths, Louis was alive, but in what shape. He needed to find him.   
  
‘Does he still live around here?’ He asked at last.

 

‘He does, he lives at Fernhill, a small estate that once belonged to his late mother, it’s quite desolate.’

 

‘Who is with him?’   
  
“Mr. Payne: he would have no one else. Mr. Payne has been his lifelong friend.’ 

 

Liam was with him, trustworthy and caring Liam. Harry arranged for the next coach to bring him to Fernhill.

 

Fernhill was a moderate sized building, nothing like the grandeur of Thorgill Hall. It was buried deep in a wood. Louis had once talked about it on one of their walks through the garden. The house had a special place in his heart, as it had been his mother’s childhood home.    
  
It was already dark when Harry arrived, the last mile on foot. He stood before the iron gate between the two granite pillars. There was a patch of lawn on each side of the entrance. Harry pushed the gates open and slowly walked towards the front door. Earlier that day he had been eager to visit Louis as soon as he could; now that he was close to seeing him, he became frightened. What if Louis didn’t want to receive him? He’d been a recluse according to the host of the inn, and Harry had left him, without ever getting back in touch. 

  
A small figure opened the door and stood on the step. His shoulders hunched, a cane in his right hand. In the twilight he was still stunning as Harry remembered. He took hesitant steps, leaning heavily on his cane. It brought tears to Harry’s eyes as he stood and watched Louis, who was unaware of the fact that he was being observed. 

 

Harry took a step forward, the pebbles under his feet crunched. Harry held his breath. Louis lifted his head and looked around him. If his eyesight had been unaffected he’d have seen Harry coming towards him, now his head turned to where he heard the footsteps coming from. 

  
“Who is there?’ Louis demanded.

 

‘It’s me.’ Harry answered, loud enough for Louis to hear.

 

Louis furrowed his brows, took a deep breath. Harry saw him shaking.

 

‘Please, take my arm… Louis.’ Harry said as he offered him his arm. Louis raised his left arm with difficulty and searched for the offered arm Harry held in front of him.

 

‘Who are you? Am I dreaming?’ Louis whispered. 

 

‘I can assure you, you are not dreaming, Louis.’ Harry replied softly as he led Louis into the house. A candle was lit in the hall. Louis stood still under the candle holder on the wall and turned to face Harry. His left hand that had been resting on Harry’s arm, now came up to Harry’s face. He slowly touched Harry’s cheek; it was no longer the soft touch of fingers, but the rough skin of scars that caressed his cheek. Louis smiled.

 

‘It is you.’ He whispered, moving closer to look at Harry, his eyes observing every feature of Harry’s face from nearby. Harry could almost feel Louis’ breath on his face. Louis’ smile became wider.

 

‘God, I’ve missed you so much. So very much. Why did you leave me?’ Tears welled up in Louis’ beautiful blue eyes. Harry leaned in and kissed him on the lips, softly.

 

‘I missed you too. Oh how I’ve missed you.’ Harry whispered back. He dropped his suitcase on the floor and wrapped both his arms around Louis. Louis’ leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder.

 

‘Are you here… to visit?’ Louis asked after they stood there for a while.

 

‘I’m here to stay… if you’ll have me.’ 

 

Louis leaned back, most of his weight on the cane. 

 

‘What could you possibly want from me! You’re a young, healthy and handsome man, why would you want to stay with me? I’m a cripple and nearly blind. I can’t even look after myself anymore. Liam has to help me with everything!’ He exclaimed loudly. Loud enough to alarm Liam who came running from a room on the left.

 

‘What is wrong Louis?’ He called, but stood still when he saw Harry standing in the hall.

 

‘Harry!’ He said. His eyes were wide.

 

‘Good evening Liam.’ Harry said.

 

‘You’re here…’ 

 

‘I’m here, for good, if Louis will have me.’ 

 

Louis muttered something, but Liam answered.

 

‘I’m sure he’ll have you, once he’s been over the initial shock of your appearance, although he’ll say otherwise, of course. He somehow got it in his head that since he’s lost most of his sight and ability to move, he’s useless, a burden on everyone.’

 

‘Liam!’ Louis replied indignantly.

 

‘I’m just telling Harry the truth, Louis.’ Liam remarked and then hugged Harry. ‘Welcome Harry, please come in.’

 

They sat in the drawing room, Liam served tea and asked Harry what he’d been doing after he’d left Thorgill Hall. Harry told them about York and the theatre.

 

‘Why did you come back, Harry?’ Louis asked when Liam left them to talk.

 

‘I couldn’t forget you. At first I thought I was doing fine, but you appeared in my dreams every night for the past few months and I realized that I could not live without you. York and the theatre were not enough to make me happy. I missed you.’   
  
‘Did you know what happened at Thorgill Hall, shortly after you fled?’ 

 

‘No, I only found out yesterday when I arrived at Thorgill Hall and instead of seeing the house I saw a ruin. The innkeeper in the village told me what had happened. I came as soon as I could.’ 

 

Louis nodded. They sat in silence for a while.   
  
‘Eleanor became more difficult since she saw you for the first time. I think she, somewhere in her twisted mind, knew of my feelings for you. I think she saw you as a threat, but we’ll never know. She never spoke, she only acted on impulse and those actions have proven to be dangerous for all of those in the Hall. She jumped of that roof as if she imagined herself being a bird. It was a horrible sight, Harry. And there was nothing I could do. I’ve wondered if she had felt caged during her stay in the hall, but Miss Rexha insisted it wasn’t like that. Eleanor had become more violent in the past year before her death.’

 

‘I’m so sorry for all that you’ve been through.’

 

‘You were wise to leave. Eleanor would always have stood between us. I was officially married to her and not free. I couldn’t hold it against you. Would you have stayed if I’d told you sooner?’

 

‘Probably not. I didn’t want to be just your lover; I loved you, still love you. It would never have been enough, I would have been uncomfortable and unhappy living in the house with you and Eleanor. You would never be mine.’

  
“Then why, Harry, why did you return?’ Louis asked.

 

‘Love. I love you. I couldn’t stay away from you. I knew you were not happy, that your marriage had always been one of convenience. Deep in my heart I’ve always known you loved me. I left in shock; it wasn’t entirely a rational decision at the time. All I knew is that I had to leave for my own safety. Is that selfish?’

 

‘No Harry, not selfish. You did what you had to do for you. You needed time to heal. I’m just grateful you found such good friends in York who took care of you when I couldn’t.’

 

Harry looked at Louis, then took his hand.

 

‘I’m better now. Are you?’ 

 

‘Much better now that you’re here, please say you’ll stay.’ Louis pleaded.

 

‘I already said so. I’m here to stay, be your lover, your friend, your companion and nurse, if you need me to be.’

 

Louis leaned in and kissed him.

 

‘I love you, Harry Styles.’

  
  


_ THE END _


End file.
